!iVmI:: 





COPyRIGHT DEPOSm 




Dedication. 



That I may be lon.ij: remembered, 
And that the world may continue 
To laugh, sing and weep, 
I dedicate this book, 
To all mankind. 

Lewis R. White 



Seri 



eries 



POEMS and SONGS 



by 



LEWIS R. WHITE 



FIRST EDITION 



Published by 

Wallace S. Ladd Printing Co. 

Aug:usta. Maine 



^^^',^-3 






Copyright 
By 
Lewis R. White 
Augusta. Maine 

1921 



JAN 19 1922 
©CI.A639022 



INTRODUCTION 




In presenting this volume of poems and songs to the 
public, I wish to say that the lines are, in most instances, 
inspirational, the outpourings of a soul that has been 
in unison with Nature, one that has felt inwardly the 
movements of men and afifairs. The writer has not 
gone in quest of subjects for poetic delineation, the 
lines rather having been the result of obeying the 
promptings of the spirit. I have long been a lover of 
the beautiful and the sublime in Nature and art and of 
all the good qualities of mankind and, while my limited 
education has not permitted my enjoying them to the 
fullest extent, I have reflected, so far as possible, my 
appreciation and gratification in the lines I have so 
humbly penned. 

While I have burned much midnight oil in the com- 
pletion of some of the poems and songs, it has been to 
me a labor of love and, if they serve in any way to in- 
struct or entertain, the writer feels that he will have 
accomplished a useful mission. 

It has always seemed to me that any writer was best 
qualified to express his feelings in rhythmic lines who 
had two special qualifications, royal blood and a well 

5 



INTRODUCTION. 

founded principle. I have endeavored to have, running 
through the collection of poems, a fundamental prin- 
ciple, the bedrock of human rights, love and sympathy. 
Regarding my lineage, according to historic records, 
Maj. George White was my great-great-grandfather. 
He was of high Irish descent and came from Dublin, 
Ireland. He served continuously throughout the War 
of the Rebellion. My grandfather, Henry White, was 
his youngest son. He was prominent in the Masonic 
order and was active in civic affairs. My grandmother 
White's maiden name was Prudence Pendleton. She 
was of Scotch descent. My father, George H. White, 
the youngest of the family, was a naturalist and veteri- 
nary surgeon. My mother's name was Anna Cottle, 
and the daughter of Thomas Cottle of Oakland, Me., 
who was the grandson of an English earl by the name 
of Rogers. 

I was born in the year 1859, and the first part of my 
life was spent in the woods and at sea, giving me ex- 
periences in two phases of Nature that I have always 
remembered. My home for a number of years now 
has been in Augusta, where I am known as a wood- 
working mechanic, a trade which I have been obliged to 
give up owing to physical infirmities and, feeling that 
I would like to do something that perhaps would strike 
a responsive chord in human interest, I have compiled 
in my spare moments this volume. 

L. R. W. 



A POET'S DREAM. 



He dreams of life, 
Causes of care and strife, 
Phrases which others crave 
From infancy to the grave. 
The low, the heights of fame, 
Carnal and divine love, 
The depths below, the heights above 
The joy and the pain. 

He dreams o'er the works of man. 
The present and the bygone plan 
Of the great good intend. 
The present need and the end. 
The many hearts of many kinds, 
With faces plain, and fair. 
Spring forth from everywhere. 
At home or in foreign clime. 

He solves the workings of the seas. 

And sniffs the rose scented breeze, 

He sees the life within it grow. 

The depths and coral reefs below, 

And on her breast the white winged sail, 

The mariners that cross it o'er, 

And sea gulls far from shore, 

And those who fail to stem the gale. 

He dreams of mountains, lofty peaks, 
Snow capped, cold and bleak 
Her steep and rocky sides, 
Where many glaciers slide ; 
And the wooded villages far below 
Where roams the panther and the bear. 
And wild flowers grow everywhere, 
Watered bv rivulets' overflow. 



POEMS AND SONGS DY LEWIS R. WHITE. 

He dreams of birds that soar the air, 
Of their sweet carols heard everywhere, 
Who Hve upon the moths and flies 
Which they catch with twinkhng eyes, 
Each seeming inspired with wisdom's art 
To cheer the traveler's toilsome way 
Who can not stop, who can not stay 
Where all who meet soon must part. 

He dreams of winters, falls and springs. 
The growino- bud that harvest brings, 
The barren time that snowflakes fall. 
Piled up drifts, the cold and all. 
The leafless forest, the frozen stream. 
The rocks and posts like sculptors stand. 
And tingling ears and freezing hands, 
Who love to feel the heated gleam. 

He dreams of Impossibilities, science, and skill, 

Discoveries, inventions working at will. 

The cunning of the human brain. 

Their uses, their injuries and their aim. 

The working schemes all combined. 

Those who strive with might and will. 

Their places vacant, that others fill, 

The progress of time. 

He dreams and dreams o'er laws divine. 
The many creeds doth man entwine. 
The many roads to endless bliss. 
The way they connect the way they miss. 
The way they should do and should not. 
And many that dormant remain. 
Never taught, left there unexplained, 
That should be read and never forgot. 



A POETS DREAM. 

He dreams of fairy lands beyond, 

Of death, the change, where others have gone, 

He feels the sun's scorching rays, 

The constant strain, of toil in bygone days, 

He sees the clouds through which he must pass, 

The drops of rain, the fears. 

An eternity of countless years. 

The way all must go at last. 



He dreams of the cold dark tomb. 

The silent grave, the endless gloom. 

And the green grassed mound, 

A lifeless form buried in the damp ground. 

Aught but a name left behind, 

A marble slab that marks the spot, 

Quickly passed but soon forgot. 

To which clings the ivy vine. 

Ah ! as he dreams his thoughts arise. 

To leave a name that will soar to the skies 

Spoken, praised, whistled and sung, 

Mentioned, remembered, by every one. 

His past life not one in vain, 

As he laments near brought. 

Though this earthly form count as aught 

Yet shall he live again. 

He dreams o'er the law and promise there. 
Of a beautiful place wondrously fair. 
Taking in its substantial truths, 
His unsatisfactory mind somewhat soothes. 
For here all the same fate, fair, good and naive. 
For there are none that are returned. 
That we might closer go and more learn, 
When to us already given beyond the grave. 



POEMS AND SONGS BY LEWIS R. WHITE. 



THE WEAVER OF THE INTERWOVEN. 



Cupid is but a weaver of an interwoven snare, 

Hereditary development of the human race, 
A worthy companion to capture and declare, 

One with an ever smiling corresponding face. 
A portrait whose beauty shades ever remain, 

To be discovered and chosen set apart. 
One refined, yet heroic in deed and name, 

Varied reflections of every personal heart. 

Some wisely and thoughtfully make their choice. 

And are blessed and favored with the same. 
Two links as one forever more to thrive and rejoice, 

Who through life's perplexities unchanged remain. 
Where familiarity gives the flower of love a deeper 
bloom. 
Whose double blossom leaves their honored seed 
behind. 
When their ripened stocks are lifeless in the tomb. 
To do as they have done, prove an honored race of 
mankind. 

And some whose honeyed cup turns to bittered gall, 

Done by their one unappreciative selfish desire. 
To gain something more ofttimes loses all, 

But the ashes left from a once brilliant fire. 
To be kindled and rekindled but will never burn, 

For they are changed, youth whispers no more. 
For they have killed the flower and a dear lesson 
learned 

Of a broken link to be mended or moulded o'er. 

And some whose shallowness and luster combined. 
Makes a sameness in the present, and years to come. 

Know not the ways of the just or refined, 
Who are but obnoxious flowers of the slums. 



10 



THE WEAVER OF THE INTERWOVEN. 

With hearts of ice, where love is not, 

Are but ravenous wolves of sin where darkness 
dwells, 
Whose ways unmentioned, their names forgot, 

Leave behind the corroded suits of hell. 

Others are but monuments in human mold, 

Barren hearts on which Cupid never calls. 
They laugh and smile, yet have an icy soul, 

A race soon expired, zephyrs soon forgotten by all, 
Whose secretive treasures are but vanity and dross. 

Vanishing vapor and substance that crowd 
In Hfe or death, nothing gained or lost, 

A barren field leave, where they should have sod. 

Thus it is better to have loved and lost, 

Than never to have loved at all, 
Although disappointed, leaves a vacative remorse, 

Cupid has painted an inextinguishable portrait o'er 
all 
From which purity, beauty and loveliness ever shines, 

Causing elevating inspirations ever to arise, 
When to have won might have meant many unseen 
shrines. 

Whose cups of gall would break all heavenly ties. 

And it is thus Cupid, the interwoven weaver. 

Spins, and twists his brittle thread of gold 
In its beauty, and arranges a well satisfied believer, 

But leaves its durability and length untold. 
A curious web of nets and snarls and broken strands, 

Puckered, half twisted, patched, and tight laced. 
Untied and tied over and retied in other bands, 

Taking out of the old and by new ones replaced. 

Love is but true devotion when understood, 
A self-sacrificing, pleasing part, 

11 



POEMS AND SONGS BY LEWIS R. WHITE. 

Where injuries and wrongs are replaced with good, 
And old grudges and jealous enter not the heart. 

That sends forth a radiant glare, 
And a firm clasp of the hand, 

The interwoven web of life everywhere. 
The life and ruler of all mankind. 

L. R. W. 



THE ENVIRONMENT OF THE SEA. 



It was o'er the beaches pebbly sands 

By waves and tempest tost, 
Lay battered hulls and torn strands 

By mariners in storms lost, 
Where I by chance passed that way 

Charmed by the sea's ebb and flow. 
In solitude to pass the day 

Amid deserted wrecks of long ago. 

Amid deserted wrecks of long ago, 

Where drifts the sea's silvery sands, 
Where shells and coral reefs grow 

Beneath the wide palm tree fans. 
Where bright-feathered songsters sing 

In chorus with the deep sea mew, 
My soul to the enchantment clings 

In harmony with the old yet the new. 

In harmony with the old yet the new 

Whose endless, ceaseless, restless motion 
O'er which sails the brave and the true, 

I hear when on or near the blue ocean 
A pathetic, sweet, sad, constant refrain 

In tuneful notes repeated o'er and o'er, 
The distant roar, the breakers roll in twain 

And hear the screech of sea gulls as they soar. 



12 



THE ENVIRONMENT OF THE SEA. 

And hear the screech of sea gulls as they soar 

Through the winged winds high and low, 
Changing from a wearied sigh to a baritone or roar 

Then slacken into a calm soft and slow. 
Lulling back again to rest the angry deep 

Where rests life and pleasure above and death below, 
In whose mammoth locker thousands with treasures 
sleep 

Where fish and crab roam and briny tides flow. 

Where fish and crab roam and briny tides flow, 

On which thousands of man's frail cradles rest, 
Whose hearts are bound whither peace or woe 

'Cord with the heaving sea rock upon her breast 
She soothes the restless spirit held within her arms, 

He drinks from the invigorating cup there distilled 
And leaves the shore behind with her charms. 

He is like the sea, restless, unsatisfied, never still. 
He is like the sea, restless, unsatisfied, never still. 

Yet upon the sea he scowls but smiles upon the land. 
The sea is fierce and wild, the land has no will. 

Oft on shore he shrinks but at sea has an iron hand, 
Who at last falls a victim of the ocean wave, 

The same power that gave demands him be no more, 
And bids him sleep in a green watery grave 

Leaving his wrecked cradle-house upon the shore. 
Where drifts the sands and sea- weeds o'er. 



13 



POEMS AND SONGS BY LEWIS R. WHITE. 



THE LITTLE BROOK. 



The little brook as it flows upon its way, 
Splashing, bubbling and murmuring all day, 
Taking in the springs and rills, 
As it winds in and out among the hills. 

Keeping its banks ever fresh and green, 

Where thirsty animals and birds are seen, 

As they come forth from some shady bower, 

To partake a refreshing draught in the summer hour. 

O'er which daisies and dafifodils nod and bend. 
Where tiny fiber for refreshments send, 
Into which their ripened petals fall, 
Carrying them on watering and refreshing all. 

O'er which the quail and the cat bird roars. 
Beneath dwell spotted trout in scores. 
Darting in and out from pool to pool. 
Starting here and there in water cool. 

Ever flowing constantly in motion. 
Fleeting onward toward the dark blue ocean. 
Giving life and strength where ere it flows. 
Forgetting none that near its waters repose. 

And its noisy ripple, as it tumbles o'er the fall, 
Is like a charming caress, or a becoming call, 
For us to come and kneel at her pebbly brink. 
And refresh our parched lips with cooling drink. 

"Drink of me," says the little brook, 

"For I am composed of pure springs, 
And my depths are no evil nooks. 

To blind the eyes or droop the wings." 



14 



THE LITTLE BROOK. 



Rain drops sent down from heaven above, 

Distilled by mother earth, 
The only drink that we should love, 

The one of natural birth. 



DREAMLESS SLEEP. 



Across a chasm dark, deep and wild, 
Where causes stop and substance hide, 
Cold and silent, dark and still, 
Ever open, yearning to be filled. 
By the unwilling or those that crave 

Its silence, its end, its gloom, 
From which returns neither saint not knave. 

To bring back information from the tomb. 

To bring back information from the tomb. 
Enlightening the mind or lift the gloom, 
Beyond the sight of mortal eye. 
To explain causes for, or causes why. 
No coming back to repent or reveal. 

Hideous wrongs or those of light. 
That would condemn or innocent shield, 

To set the future or past aright. 

To set the future or past aright, 
Sinking below or rising in upward flight. 
Always coming, going forth, rising, falling, 
In grim silence, or watching, hoping, calling. 
Who have sowed what they must reap, 

The wheat of good or cares of strife, 
That comes to all who dreamless sleep. 

Eternal death or eternal life. 



15 



POEMS AND SONGS BY LEWIS R. WHITE. 

Eternal death or eternal life, 
God's manifestation by the cross of light. 
That whosoever there looked upon, 
Should be saved and a new life taken on. 
Before the sundown and day is past, 

Beyond repentance or recall, 
When all awake who dreamless at last, 

When Gabriel blows his trumpet call. 



PASSING WINTER. 



Hark ! what mean this wearied sigh, 

This dull moan with seeming endless strain. 

This freezing sleet, this mist, this falling rain. 

Blinding gusts descending from a starless sky. 

Is heaven sad that she should weep. 

Because old winter soon must die ? 

And is it with regret and heartfelt pain, 

That tear-drops constant fall in vain, 

Fearing that all nature will awaken from her sleep, 

And spring forth with one joyous cry? 

Ah ! at last the heavens cease to weep, 

The cold wintery winds cease to soar. 

No more snowflakes' ice and sleet downward pour, 

For the sun seems to rise as from a sleep, 

Sending forth a smile again on earth. 

Once more melting away her icy robe of white, 

Revealing earth's carpet of green. 

All seem glad as they watch the snow melt between. 

The birds sing once more with joyous mirth. 

As cold Jack Frost goes out of sight. 



16 



PASSING WINTER. 

The rivers and brooks and rivulets run. 
They, with melted glaciers overflow, 
By falling rain and sun-kissed snow. 
Ever flowing onward, forming into one, 
Mixing with the briny, dark blue ocean, 
Where the white caps lash the shore. 
Never coming back, never more returning, 
Ever restless, roaring, splashing, murmuring. 
Thus all with one accord ever keep in motion, 
Ever passing onward forever more. 



SHADOWS THAT PASS BETWEEN. 



When the sun is shining fair. 

We love to feel its shining glare, 

The reflecting rays and mellow gleam, 

Which through space is taking flight, 
And watch silvery clouds pass between, 

Hiding the stars with dazzling light. 

Hiding the stars with dazzling light, 
That twinkle and shoot in passing night. 
While the big full moon that golden sheen, 

Seems queen o'er all the starry realm. 
With sky above and the earth below, rolls between, 

With glowing face by smiles o'erwhelmed. 

With glowing face by smiles o'erwhelmed, 

Guiding the weary traveler to his home beneath the elm, 

Where hugs and clapping hands intervene, 

Driving away borrowed sorrows untold, 
And dark shadows that have rolled between. 

The space uniting the young and the old. 

The space uniting the young and the old. 
In which passing time her truths unfold, 
Oft brought forth from a well planned screen, 

17 



POEMS AND SONGS BY LEWIS R. WHITE. 

Seeming beyond the penetration of years, 
Dark shadows that have rolled between, 

Pushed on by some child or repenting heart in tears 

Pushed on by some child or repenting heart in tears, 

From whose unselfish purity no doubt appears, 

To shield the wrong or check the truth plainly seen. 

Through flickering sparks of light, 
Vanishing dark shadows that have rolled between, 

The glowing sunset and the night. 

The glowing sunset and the night, 

That quickly passes when morning sunlight, 

Sends forth her welcome radiant gleam, 

Like the truths of God to the hearts of man. 
Which drives away all shadows that roll between, 

His glory into space beyond a dark span. 

His glory into space beyond a dark span 

Causes, and evil deeds of mortal man 

Entwined amid the serpent's coil and deadly gleam. 

So began in ages past records of weal and woe. 
Dark shadows that have ever rolled between. 

That beautiful city prepared so long ago. 

That beautiful city prepared so long ago. 

Of which an eternity of years can never overthrow, 

Or change the crosses soul saving gleam, 

Which brighter shines as time is being fulfilled, 
From the beginning shadows have ever rolled between. 

Which has only proven the glory of God's will. 

Which has only proven the glory of God's will, 
And his saving power and that he loves still, 
The only law on which the world can lean, 

And only one in the heaven above, 
The vanisher of all shadows that pass between, 

His mighty saving grace, Love. 



18 



SONG OF THE SHELL. 



SONG OF THE SHELL. 



All day I hear along- the rock)^ shore, 

The melancholy murmur of the sea, 

And white winged sea gulls singing to me, 

In a chorus with ocean roar. 

And hear tales of mariners o'er, 

Of sinking ships and tempests blowing free, 

All is sweet music to me, 

The green robed legions sang o'er and o'er. 

When night comes, in the deep blue sky. 
Gathers the stars above the ocean foam, 
While o'er my pearly house, fish and crab roam. 
There I enchant her melodies as I sleep. 
Gently rocking, while above angry billows leap. 
I hear spashing surf against rocky cliff. 
Taking her furious flight as I gently drift, 
While the angry winds their vigil keep. 

Amid the rising and falling rollers, 
Lashing coral reefs and islands side, 
Whose depth golden shipwrecked treasures hide, 
Where dark watery graves no stories tell, 
Of dying moans their inward swell ; 
Among whose rocky shores mermaids call, 
. Sing with me their enchantments o'er, 
Where the sea-mew is the chorus corps, 
Coming forth in every rain or squall. 

The bass tone of the thunders roll, 
Tuneful notes added to the brackish tide, 
That in fury pounds and lashes shore and shore, 
Where gold and silvery sands roll back and hide. 
While I with my sweet refrain open wide, 
Join in with lost souls who sink below. 
Whose fathomless briny waters overflow 
Where drifted the seaweed o'er. 



19 



POEMS AND SONGS BY LEWIS R. WHITE. 



LEO KENNEBEC. 



Leo Kennebec was an Indian maiden, 
Who lived in a forest of flowers laden, 
Who roasted venison or fished from the reef, 
The pride of her father, an Indian chief. 

Choosing a brave from his own tribe, 
To whom this daughter was to be the bride. 
There did no love between them rise. 
No kind word and glance of the eyes. 

For a young chief from another part. 
Had wooed and won her heart. 
So her father's choice she could not warrant. 
For she loved the Mountain Torrent. 

He was a different chief of another tribe. 
And so by each other's laws could not abide, 
As envy reigned in each other's heart. 
They choose to live far apart. 

It was on one bright sunny day, 
That young Torrent and his bride ran away, 
They fearing her father's rage and threat, 
That neither would forgive nor forget. 

In a birch canoe they crossed the bay, 
Toward the river heading their way. 
They landed on her green mossy shore, 
There to live and be happy evermore. 

They built a wigwam in which to dwell, 
Enjoying love's happy spell. 
While he fishing and hunting went, 
She watched his return from their tent. 



20 



LEO KENNEBEC. 

But alas ! how short love's dreams, 
And oh, how cruel fate sometime seems. 
That two happy souls so soon should part, 
That walked hand in hand and heart and heart. 

It was on one dreary autumn morn, 
For three days or more he had been gone ; 
That waiting his return her patience was spent, 
And on his trail her footsteps bent. 

And she not surmising her father's wicked plot. 
That he. the Mountain Torrent's life beset. 
Until she had trailed him to a hilly part, 
Where he lay with an arrow through the heart. 

And she quickly bent over his lifeless form, 
While in her heart beat sorrow's storm. 
And with trembling, drew forth the deadly blade, 
Of which her father's hand had made. 

Alas, how sad, she knew it all too well, 
Cruel revenge had broken that happy spell. 
All happiness, peace, life and trust. 
Lies lifeless in the dust. 

And she with brain afire and nerve unstrung, 
Dug a grave for her beloved one ; 
And in it him, she gently placed, 
The chief of the Torrent race. 

She covered him o'er with earth's carpet green, 
And over his grave is plainly seen, 
A picked stone carved with her own hand, 
That has and shall for ages stand. 

Then she left the spot with a piercing cry, 
For the river that was passing by, 
And with a long agonizing shriek, 
She plunged into its waters deep. 



21 



POEMS AND SONGS BY LEWIS R. WHITE. 

And travelers used to say as they passed by, 
That they could hear that piercing cry, 
At the float of that little falls, a foaming speck, 
The heartbroken shriek of Leo Kennebec. 



MEMORY OF PUDDLE DOCK. 



A little rhyme I know of old, 

For many times I've heard it told 

By Uncle Sam, told with a smile, 

Who called once in a while, 

With crooked staff and form bent low, 

As from house to house he used to go. 

It was of a heroic deed that caused a shock, 

Happening on the shores of puddle dock. 

Of three little goslings so they say. 

That went down the river for to play. 

Who spied some green corn upon the shore, 

Which put them all in a bloody gore. 

It was old Sam Mack with courage stout. 

Who took down his musket and ventured out, 

All for to slay that little flock, 

Upon the green shores of puddle dock. 

This simple rhyme though nearly forgot, 

Is a true reflection to the present spot. 

Of a faithful old servant of long ago. 

Who with shaggy beard and form bent low, 

In childhood pleased me with his rhyme. 

Ah ! many years have passed by since that time, 

That he with staff o'er our threshold walked. 

From that little village called puddle dock. 



22 



MEMORY OF PUDDLE DOCK. 

Oh ! puddle dock, it is of thee 

That I love to recall sweet memory, 

Of many a face long laid away, 

Old schoolmates and friends since that day. 

When the little village in thrift did stand. 

Where now aught is left but barren land, 

And even the dam made of solid rock. 

Is all vanished and gone from puddle dock. 



UNITED BELLS. 



Bells, bells, joyous pealing bells, 

That the same old story tells. 

Ever from their copper throats pealing. 

Revelations of truth revealing. 

That breaks the stillness with repeating rings. 

Telling all mankind of better things. 

Bells, bells, joyous clanging bells. 
That the same wondrous story tells, 
Whose vibrations, the word declares. 
Calling them from this world of snares. 
Kindling their hearts, as with fire 
From heaven, lifting them up higher. 

Bells, bells, joyous echoing bells. 
That the same wondrous love tells, 
With musical sounds of chimes. 
Sending forth glad tidings to all climes. 
All denominations ringing the same. 
Like dififerent notes to one tune the same. 

Bells, bells, joyous happy bells, 
That the same forgiving grace tells, 
Whose holding notes seem to yearn, 

23 



POEMS AND SONGS BY LEWIS R. WHITE. 

For both old and young their secrets to learn, 
The shining crowns of silver and gold, 
Beautiful mansions and wonders to unfold. 

Bells, bells, joyous vibrating bells, 
That the same keeping power tells, 
Their united ever tuneful clang, 
The same old song repeatedly sang. 
Never grows old but is always new. 
That is ever full of life when sang to you. 

Bells, bells, sad mournful bells, 

That of another departed friend tells, 

Whose slow firm pendulum whacks, 

Whose solemn ring repeats, will never more come back, 

For they have gone beyond as we have learned, 

From whence no one has e'er returned. 



YES AND NO. 



If a friend gives you good advice, 

And you know it is something nice, 

Feel that you are looking for a chance like this. 

Politely thank them and say yes. 

But if their advice will make you sad, 
And you know it will prove bad, 
Causing you in wrong always to go. 
Politely thank them and say no. 

Yes and no is what we are taught, 
Yes and no is what is to us given, 
Yes and no should not be forgot, 
And in their proper places given. 



24 



YES AND NO. 



Let your words be the best, 
And leave out slang phrases, 
For they are a true test. 
Of the foolish and the crazy. 



CRIMSON SIGN. 



I stood before a volcano's engulfing aim, 

And in fear heard the terrible roar, 
And inhaled the odors' sickening flame, 

That seemed to reach from shore to shore, 
Transfixed like one in a dream. 

Strength gone, my heart with labor beat. 
And as nearer came the engulfing gleam. 

The earth seemed to crumble beneath. 

I saw nations and cities rise and fall. 

Passing beyond on clouds in space, 
And heard their bells last distant pall. 

From which new ones were replaced. 
The relics of whose ashes ever smote, 

The foundations of the new, 
In one word by all tongues wrote, 

In dazzling letters of scarlet hue. 

O'er land and sea it ever rolled 

In bursting clouds, dark as night. 
Regardless of places, young or old, 

Rich or poor, strong or weak, or those of might, 
Who have to walk the crumbHng walls, 

O'er cankerous tombs unseen below, 
From which no sounds on the ear ever falls, 

Where lay the sleepers of long ago. 



25 



POEMS AND SONGS BY LEWIS R. WHITE, 

And as I strained my aching eye, 

To see beyond the clouds of mist, 
I saw a star fall from the sky, 

And my ear caught the words it hissed. 
There is a land just out of sight. 

Not like this crumbling land of yore. 
Prepared for the heroic souls of light. 

Where the crimson sign is seen no more. 

And as this star earthward came, 

There shot forth a golden light, 
That cooled the crater's heated flame. 

Turning all darkness into light. 
The trembling earth once more refreshed anew, 

And the works of man like rubbish tossed, 
On whose barren streets where nothing grew, 

Heavenly flowers bloom without frost. 

Near my feet opened a spanless chasm. 

From which none ever returned. 
Shadows cast of lost souls in spasm. 

Whose parched tongues for a crystal drot yearned, 
And as they sank down, down below. 

With agonizing shrieks of self-wrought shame, 
Clutching at slimy walls, ever letting go, 

Whose scarlet cloths were all that remained. 

Sickened at the sight before my eyes, 

I gazed beyond with enforced will, 
Upon mansions whose towers pierced the skies, 

In a city built upon a hill. 
Whose walls of pearls the sun out-shone, 

With one narrow gate of gold open wide, 
Where a mighty king sat on a throne. 

Where all was peace and love inside. 



26 



CRIMSON SIGN. 

I saw many weary travelers journeying on, 

Who were safely guided by the scarlet sign, 
Into the city of gold not far beyond, 

While others, misguided, slipped down the incline, 
This a curious place where two roads start, 

Ever changing in motion and yet the same. 
The forks of the broad and narrow roads meet and part. 

The foolish and the wise, rich and poor, blind and 
lame. 

Travelers of the broad, wore robes black as night, 

While those who walked the narrow way, 
Wore fleecy robes of spotless white, 

Into the city where numberless harpers sing and play, 
Songs written by poets of the old and new. 

On gold and silver harps of many strings, > 
Oh, grave, where are thy victories now, 

Oh, death, where are thy stings. 



COMPARISON. 



There is many a sweet tasting seed, 
That grows in a rugged spot. 

And also many a lofty weed, 
That never will amount to aught. 

There is many a rugged form. 

That has only sweetness hidden there. 

And also many a delicate thorn, 

Whose poisonous perfumes fill the air. 

There is many a beautiful rose, 
That has a tender smiling blush. 



27 



POEMS AND SONGS BY LEWIS R. WHITE. 

Who scatters sweet petals as she grows, 
That is easy to be crushed. 

There is also many a poisonous flower, 
That grows on the despisable plan. 

Watered by the same sweet showers, 
That is always despised by man. 



A KIND WORD. 



Oh, What is that sound so sweet and clear. 
That seems to fill and charm my soul, 

That like sweet music falls upon my ear. 
Whose vibrations echo around me roll? 

It is old and yet it is new, I have often heard. 

And felt the charm of a kind word. 

When exhausted from labor and weary toil. 
Discouraged by draw-backs and defeat. 

When those sweet sounds around me roll. 
They ofttimes turn the bitter into sweet, 

'Wherein contention or strife is stirred, 

It is always easier settled by a kind word. 

For if we have the blues and things look blind, 
And our hearts with sorrow are filled, 

A few kind words you will always find, 

Will heal the wounds and give us courage still. 

On whose good points we can always rely, 

As the poet says, "kind words can never die." 



28 



STAR OF BETHLEHEM. 



STAR OF BETHLEHEM. 



Ever twinkling are bright little stars, 
That seem to sail above Venus and Mars. 
Ever shooting forth their brilliant lights, 
Through all of the long dreary nights. 

They sparkle like diamonds in the sky, 
Up above the clouds so far on high, 
Ever penetrating through the dark gloom, 
Lighting up the pathway for the moon. 

Among them, one more brilliant than the rest, 
One that to us is the dearest and the best, 
And as we, our eyes cast to the blue skies above, 
Behold the glittering rays of the star we love, 

Set in the sky when the world was young, 
When the career of man first began; 
And they were in sin and ignorance, 
Surely needed a bright beacon light. 

To guide that knowledge-seeking hand. 

To the birthplace of our dear Savior in Bethlehem, 

That in a humble manger lay, 

Wherein the shepherds set their way. 

All for to learn the meaning, truth and right. 
Of that gleaming star that shone so bright. 
The wondrous ways and the mighty plan, 
Of our dear Savior in Bethlehem. 



29 



POEMS AND SONGS BY LEWIS R. WHITE. 

RED ROSE. 



Oh, hear me, queen of beauties, 
These pleadings of mine, 

Thy glories come in summer. 
In winter thou must repine. 

Ah, no, we sleep in sweet repose, 
That we may come again, 

That redder may bloom the rose. 
Whose petals kiss the rain. 

Watered by drops of dew, 
And give sweet perfume. 

Glad to show her prettiest hue. 
In the merry month of June. 



WEEPING WILLOW. 



Oh, tell me, weeping willow tree. 

Why dost thy branches downward bend? 

Why not look up and joyous be. 
And thy foliage upward extend. 

Oh, tell me, weeping willow tree, 

Why thy branches swing in restless motion? 
Dost thou mourn for those that cannot be. 

To whom death has been their portion? 

"No," sighs the willow bending low, 
"I weep not for those that are dead. 

For they have had their day once, you know, 
And as they lived they made their bed. 



30 



WEEPING WILLOW, 

I weep for those in life's early dawn, 

All tender shoots every one ; 
That must flourish among thistle and thorn. 

Beneath a scorching sun. 

I also weep for the youthful trees, 
Who must stand the storms of time, 

That are bent and swayed with heavy breeze. 
Or choked by branches tightly bound. 

I weep for those in the flower of life, 

Who bare the seeds left behind, 
That stands the axe of sin and strife, 

And the downward road's swift decline. 

I weep for those of older years, 

That have stood the hurricane's blast, 

Who shake with twisted limbs and fear, 
That soon must fall at last. 

I weep for those who have fallen low, 

Who never more can rise, 
That are uprooted in life's early glow. 

Or old ages ripened dies. 

I weep for those sunken in the mire, 
Who leave their black shapes behind. 

Shadowing those that would grow higher. 

That cannot be covered by the growth of time." 



31 



POEMS AND SONGS BY LEWIS R. WHITE. 

SUNSET. 



It is in the sunset's purple glow, 

And clouds like crystal sheets o'erhead 
Are ever moving on, they come and go. 

Shadows chasing shadows o'er the landscape spread. 

The scenery ever changing in the gloom, 
Like a flowery robe o'er earth being spread. 

Her colors bright purple, golden and red. 
One after another giving room. 

In her shadows a fairy like hand, 

Of which the forest's foliage feels a shake. 

Changing her green robes with magic wand, 
Into glittering shades no artist can make. 

And as her last red flame sinks out of sight. 
The brown, silver and orange shades that fill, 

And o'er earth is spread a black robe of night, 

A falling leaf, the gentle wind whispers, all is still. 



THE DIFFERENCE. 



A still tongue, you know, 

Is not like a noisy one.. 
For there is depth below. 

The other, shallow rippling runs. 

The one that runs dark and deep, 
Is not like the rippling fall. 

You cannot at her treasure's peep. 
In the other you see them all. 



32 



•SAva-aooH3s aassaia 



BLESSED SCHOOL-DAYS. 



When the warm days in the springtime 
Return, and the flowers of May, 

When we all can enjoy the ringtime, 
That we in the school-A'ard did play. 

Then we forget the cold days of winter, 

Old Jack Frost, ice and snow, 
And the sleds we stove to splinters. 

When striking the ice, you know. 

We will pick the acorn from the oak 
That grows upon the old hill side, 

Go fishing down in the brook. 

And catch the trout that in it hide. 

And we must not forget our lessons, 

That to us the teacher taught, 
For in years to come they will be blessings 

Coming to us when we think not. 

Then we will say in words of truth. 
In looking o'er bright years of yore. 

We are glad that in our youth, 
That we laid up a golden store. 

Then when old age's snowy locks, 
Like winter time comes creeping on. 

We'll leave behind summer's ripened crops, 
To benefit others when we are gone. 



33 



POEMS AND SONGS BY LEWIS R. WHITE. 



EDEN'S BLUSHING ROSE. 



Ah, hear me all ye fair flowers, 

That grow on earth's richest soil 
Budding and blooming in shady bowers. 

Whose petals ripen and spoil. 

On which the humming bee that reposes, 
With all of thy sweetness ever blessed, 

Who art the fairest among the roses. 
That is ever numbered with the rest. 

From whose bower coos the dove, 

Charmed by the pink blushing face. 
For thou hath taught him, thee to love. 

Who never can forget the sweetness of thy grace. 

With thy face aglow I long for thee, 

For thou art the image of my heart. 
In Cupid's bondage I shall ever be, 

Until I my love to thee impart. 

I long to pick thee from thy bower, 

And clasp thee to my throbbing breast. 

That I may enjoy thy sweetness every hour, 
Thou blushing rose of Eden, choicest and best. 



34 



GREATNESS. 



GREATNESS. 



Oh, hear me, ye mountain summit, 

With noted firmness towering skyward so, 

That never are lighted by the warmth of sunlight, 
Whose peaks are ever covered with snow. 

Though thy dark shadows ever cast. 

O'er plains and valleys far below ; 
Forced to receive thy broken blasts. 

Of frozen ice and falling snow. 

Or from whose inward realms. 

Volcanic poisons spurting ever. 
Thy smoke and lava others overwhelms 

Them from thy sight hiding forever. 

Ah, mountains, let me tell thee this, 
Now thy greatness that seemeth all, 

Shall turn to sorrows instead of bhss, 
For thou shall surely fall. 

And thy lofty peaks beloved o'er. 

To some sunken waste, 
Whose boasting realness be forgotten evermore, 

That will leave a wider space. 

Whose wraths of cold and heat, 

Shall be counted as aught, 
And thou evermore quietly sleep. 

When thou art downward brought. 



35 



POEMS AND SONGS BY LEWIS R. WHITE. 



BLACKSMITH OF AN ENDLESS CHAIN. 



Blacksmith, time, so inclined, 

Is the builder of an endless chain, 
With varied links all combined, 

Supposed to stand life's trying strain. 
On briny tides or surf beaten shore, 
Where storms beat and hot suns pour. 

He makes and forms with untiring hand, 
The Hnks of dross and then of gold, 

That reaches the deepest chasm, or widest span, 
Where life and death takes control, 

And pleasures and sorrows alike pass away, 

Like the shades of eve at the close of day. 

He is ever welding, and forming on. 
Never looking behind or turning back. 

To mend a broken, or those that are gone. 
Never replacing the missing links it lacks, 

But as day by day passes quickly beyond. 

New links after links he couples on. 

And yet this chain must be completed. 
And every link must be put in place, 

Although centuries he has been beating, 
Constantly with untiring pace. 

The metals of a decaying shaft. 

To be completed in time, times and a half. 

Then the blacksmith of the endless chain, 

Eternally will rest. 
For Mr. Time spared neither skill nor pain, 

In fulfillment of the very best. 
So ordained in the year of One, 
When the blacksmith first begun. 



36 



SELFISH HEARTS. 



SELFISH HEART. 



Oh, thou unfeeHng, selfish heart, 

By cold deeds and scorns are traced. 

In selfish motives seeming kindness, impart 
An apparent smile behind a marble face. 

Ah, love, thou knowest not the meaning, 

It was never in thy nature wrought. 
Thy words like swords ever gleaming. 

To fence her purity on the spot. 

From darkness into darkness ever looking, 
Thou art blind and will not see the light. 

Thy ways in selfishness ever croaking. 
Regardless, are far from being right. 

No feeling hand from thee extends, 

No athletic step or blushing start. 
Thou art ready to curse thy best friend, 

Or drive a javelin through his heart. 

No tears of penitence ever drop 

From the raven's piercing eye. 
But with an icy glare, freezing to the spot. 

Leaving the flowers of sacrifice to wilt and die. 

Who niaketh thine own pathway hard. 
Fool of Hades, and rocky hills ascend. 

Continually leaving the worn and scarred, 
Because thou wilt out to wisdom bend. 

Thou wouldest ever roll by stubborn will. 
Regardless of the outcome or others' welfare. 

As long as thyself, thou pleasest still. 

Leaving thy piercing arrows stinging there. 



37 



POEMS AND SONGS BY LEWIS R. WHITE. 

Hatred and reveng-e are thy gifts, 

For the bountiful fruits of love and life. 

In thy dark heart no sunshine ever sifts, 
Where all is selfishness and strife. 



A TRUE SEA YARN. 



It was on an Eastern coast in winter, 

That a vessel left her moorings loaded with coal, 
With thirty-five ton on her deck, 

And a thousand or more in the hold. 

She started from New York bay. 

For the beautiful capital of Maine. 
She had made but thirty knots or so. 

Before it shut in dark and commenced to rain. 

Her deck was soon covered with ice, 
Stifif and frozen were rigging and sails. 

While the sea did madly roll. 

As the white-caps swept her weather rails. 

Soon the wind blew a hurricane, 

And fiercely shrieked the shrouds. 
Being frozen they could not reef the sails. 

So they went with a rip, soaring in the clouds. 

And as the sea swept the vessel's deck, 

Ofif from her bow went the anchor with a howl, 

Down went the cable, horse-pipe and all. 
Until around the norman she got foul. 



38 



A TRUE SEA YARN. 

The sailors being numb and nearly frozen, 
Could not fish her in, nor do scarce a thing, 

As she plunged the anchor like a pendulum, 
Pounded her bottom with every swing. 

The Captain fiercely blew his trumpet, 
And every bold seaman held his breath. 

Knowing well unless they hauled in the anchor, 
They all must soon go down in death. 

Just then up spoke the young cook, 
As o'er her icy deck he cast an eye, 

"I will hook the anchor and save the crew. 
Or for them I will perish and die." 

And as she arose again upon a roller, 
He with the hook leaped o'er the rail. 

Then up spoke the mate with pale face, 

"Bold hero, he will never rise to tell the tale." 

But ah, he did, and did it well. 

And tells the tale today, 
Of the ship on which he often sailed. 

That since has been wrecked, they say. 



39 



POEMS AND SONGS BY LEWIS R. WHITE. 



JEALOUS IMAGINATION. 



Once there lived a young pair, 

He was of the jealous dust, 
But she was pure as the morning air. 

And still, her he would not trust. 

He imagined when his back was turned, 

That she to another drew. 
In agony of spirit he writhed and yearned, 

Because he thought it true. 

When in company with those nigh. 

She did not dare to look or smile. 
For he looked on with a jealous eye. 

And watched her all the while. 

It was on one bright summer's day 

That she wandered among the flowers. 

He on his business went away, 
And left her among the bowers. 

As she wandered around the place. 

Picking flowers and the time away whiling, 

There appeared before her a manly face. 
She greeted him with hand, smiling. 

Just then her husband returned, 

With his jealous, skeptic eye; 
Now he would be sure the truth'to learn. 

As he had on them spied. 

He watched every movement well. 
The joyous hand-shaking, greeting, 

The loving embrace and kissing spell, 

The flushed face and laughing eyes at meeting. 



40 



JEALOUS IMAGINATION. 

With white face and bloodshot eyes, 
Clenched teeth from which he hissed : 

"I see it now, they both must die, 
For revenge to me is sweet bliss." 

He grew rigid, his chest expands. 

Cold perspiration stood upon his brow ; 

He clutched his dirk with a giant hand, 

Hissing as he thumbed the hilt, "I'll do it now. 

Like a wounded panther hankering for blood, 
He makes three steps one after another, 

And then stops short with a thud. 

As he catches the words, "dear brother." 

Growing weak, he scarce can stand. 

Ah, how near to words, missed his aim. 

He trembled, the dirk dropped from his hand. 
His head drops on his breast with shame. 



A FLOWER GARDEN. 



This world is a flower garden. 

With flowers of every hue. 
Some like the lily, bright and fair, 

Others of darker colors or blue. 

Some giving fragrance sweet and mild, 

Others, strong and vile, 
Some lift their heads toward the skies. 

Others droop downward, never rise. 



41 



POEMS AND SONGS BY LEWIS R. WHITE. 

New flowers always springing forth, 

Some in life just begun, 
While others whose petals fade 

Before every setting sun. 

And it is thus time rolls on 

On this earthly shore, 
Until the Great Gardener of all, 
Shall come and declare, 

That flowers shall bloom no more. 



TOM THE BONNIE LADDIE O. 



It is in a domestic baker-shop, 

Of which you all know well, 
And of a Bonnie Laddie O 

Of which I am going to tell. 
For many long years, 

I will have you all know. 
That he neither loved nor feared, 

Of being beaten, Tom the Bonnie Laddie O. 

It is always right upon the tick. 

He is sure to take his place ; 
Always looking neat and slick, 

And a smile upon his face. 
Slipping on an apron white as chalk, 

With everything set in a row, 
Into it clear to his elbows walks 

This famous cook, Tom the Bonnie Laddie O. 

He surely understood his trade, 
And understood it well. 



42 



TOM THE BONNIE LADDIE O. 

In front of the oven's cooling shade, 

Slinging pans, he seemed to delve, 
With a quick and scientific flip, 

That seems to be natural, you know. 
He nevers lets one drop or slip, 

For he knows his big Bonnie Laddie O. 

He can more than sling the dough, 

And sling it good and sweet. 
All kinds of doughnuts and cakes you know. 

Baked and fried with holes complete ; 
And also pies and buns and tarts. 

Always in good demand, you know, 
To fill hungry mouths, and gladden hearts. 

They know who made them, Tom the Bonnie 
Laddie O. 



SQUAWS HE'S GONE. 



It was back in the Pilgrim days, 

On the Kennebec's rocky shore, 
That a red man roamed the forest, 

That will never roam it more. 

And with bow and arrow shot the deer, 
That he drew from his painted quiver. 

As swiftly in his birch canoe, 
He glided down the rapid river. 

And as he silently o'er the waters glided, 

A sharp eye ever keeping, 
And with a light stroke dipped his paddle. 

Through wildwood and brush ever peeping. 



43 



POEMS AND SONGS BY LEWIS R. WHITE. 

For birds or beasts that happen to be feeding, 

On the Kennebec's grassy side, 
Heeding not that o'er the falls he was heading, 

And that swifter and swifter ran the tide. 

Till at last when it was too late. 

And his canoe towards the falls heading. 

He saw and knew his fate, 

His paddle lost, she would not mind his bidding. 

He saw his squaws upon the shore, 

As o'er the falls quickly drifted. 
And rising in his canoe, 

To them his hands uplifted. 

And as he shot towards the raging foam, 

In the sunset's early dawn, 
His shrill cry rang from shore to shore. 

Squaws he's gone, Squaws he's gone. 



NEVER WAITING. 



Time will never wait. 
Nor neither will the tide, 

For at a perpetual rate, 
They ever onward glide. 



44 



MEMORY. 

MEMORY. 

Years that have past, 

Memory oft times recalls, 
Are like shadows that are cast, 

Ever fleeting o'er us all. 

Like clouds onward passing. 

Between sun and earth. 
Numberless shades ever casting, 

Some dark, others of mirth. 

Shadows casting shadows, 

We oft times see upon the wall, 

Are cast o'er hills and meadows, 
Covering where'er they fall. 

All dififerent shades of light. 

Black, crimson and red. 
Following in successive flight, 

Coloring earth their bed. 

One after the other as they go. 
The blue, purple and the gold. 

Beautiful paintings throw. 
Over us seem to unfold. 

Time ends clouds that shadows cast, 
Are no more coloring the spot, 

The sun breaks through at last. 
Memory is asleep, all is forgot. 

Old grudges are like mountain peaks. 

That tower to the skies, 
But love, with a volcanic sweep. 

Will melt them down no more to rise. 



45 



POEMS AND SONGS BY LEWIS R. WHITE. 



THE LIFE OF A ROSE. 



From the earth there sprang a shoot, 
Around a weed her fibers entwining; 

And on it grew a rose-bud cute, 
On which the sun was shining. 

And as she raised her dewy head, 

In early dawn to meet the sun. 
On which she gazed with blushes red. 

Blooming life to her just won. 

Each day amid summer breezes light, 
She blushed and nodded till setting sun ; 

Then, folding her petals up tight. 
Sleeps until another day's begun. 

Thus she blooms and spends the summer 
Amid the pleasures of life ever sweet, 

Till a chilly wind, a forerunner, 
Warns her of trials she must meet. 

And as each day more chilly grew. 
Her sweet face commenced to fade. 

She with a shiver shook off the dew 
That the evening mist had made. 

And as each day harder grew the test. 
She whiter and more bleached became, 

Although standing firm, doing her best. 
Until at last was left no youthful flame. 

Autumn winds their works were doing, 
Her once red petals to loose and fall. 

Alas ! the sweet, blushing rose lay in ruin. 
Only a dead stalk is left, that's all. 



46 



THE LIFE OF A ROSE. 



She has thrived and had her day, 
Flourished and sown her seed; 

And in time the harvester comes that way. 
Choosing her with others for his need. 



INDIAN GRATITUDE. 



When the red men roamed the forest, 

In the years of long ago, 
With paint and feathers, bow and arrow, 

Hunted the deer and buffalo, 

Being large and strong in number, 
When settlers they were few, 

Queer traits of character they had, 
And some odd things they used to do. 

One of which I will relate : — 
If young or old in sickness lie, 

Were carried to some shady spot. 
Where they were left to die. 

This tale is of an Indian Chief, 

Who had a daughter fair ; 
He lived in a flowery forest, 

With a white settler there. 

It was on a summer's day 

That she had a very sick spell ; 

Thinking that she must be laid away. 
The Chief's heart with sorrow fell. 



47 



POEMS AND SONGS BY LEWIS R. WHITE. 

He took her to a quiet spot, 

And laid her gently down to rest ; 

In his mind he calmly thought, 

Life soon would leave her youthful breast. 

The settler of whom I write 

Had a son whose name was Phil, 

Who on a day fair and bright 
Went a-hunting o'er the hill. 

And as he chanced to pass the spot 

Where this Indian maiden lay, 
He well knew what he was taught, 

That she was brought there to die. 

He from his pocket quickly drew 

A flask of ginger water, 
And like a good, honest youth. 

Gave some to this Indian daughter. 

It stopped and changed the spell. 

And as he watched her quickly gain, 

His simple remedy has worked well, 
Glad that she was free from pain. 

And as he looked with a startled frown, 
And her eyes, too, opened wide, 

He saw the Chief on him looking down, 
Surprised that she alive was by his side. 

One glance and all was plain, 

No ghostly sight, but a smile in place. 

On the ground the firewater remained. 
Beside her stood with pale face. 

In his arms he clasped her form. 
With unexpressed thanks of joy. 

Young squaw firewater all was gone, 
There stood amazed the settler boy. 



48 



INDIAN GRATITUDE. 

Thinking not of what he had done, 
In giving the girl his ginger water, 

That he a reward had won, 

In saving the Chief's fair daughter. 

In the morning when he did awake, 

How glad was his surprise, 
For there stood hitched to his gate 

A white pony saddled before his eyes. 

Without palavering or silken crest, 

Bows, formality or mood, 
There was plainly seen the test 

Of the Indian Chief's gratitude. 



MY JOAN. 

As I sat half asleep, half a-dreaming, 
That my eyes with tears were streaming, 
For the loss of my darling Joan. 
Was she gone and gone forever? 
Should I not again shake her hand ? 
And a voice seemed to whisper, Noar, 

Whisper o'er and o'er. 

Never more, never more. 

As I dozed I saw the stars a-streaming. 
Through my window brightly gleaming; 
And as I mourned the loss of my Joan, 
Should I not hear her sweet voice, 
That was sure to thrill the heart of man? 
And a voice seemed to whisper, Noar, 

Whisper o'er and o'er. 

Never more, never more. 



49 



POEMS AND SONGS BY LEWIS R. WHITE. 

Through the window I saw the moonlig"ht, 
Traveling through the clouds watching the night, 
If I could but see my sweet Joan, 
And look into those eyes of brown, 
And the smile once upon her face scan, 
Still a voice seemed to whisper, Noar, 

Whisper o'er and o'er, 

Never more, never more. 

As through the window peeped the sunlight, 

Shining in with her eye so bright, 

I awoke, for by me stood my Joan ; 

It was false, I was only dreaming. 

For on my brow she laid her white hand, 

It was her voice I heard whisper, Noar, 

Whisper o'er and o'er, 

I am with you ever more. 



OCEAN COMPARISON. 

Ocean, mighty, unfathomable ocean. 
How boundless thy measurements are, 

Ever perpetual is thy motion. 

Whose billows reach near and far. 

Who could drink thy waters up, 

Or stop thy everlasting motion, 
And swallow at one draught thy flavored cup, 

That is full of life's countless portion? 

Rich are the drugs that thy waters contain. 
For countless and priceless thy treasures are. 

Rubies, diamonds, silver and gold remain 
Stretched on thy bottom near and far. 



50 



I 



OCEAN COMPARISON. 



Safely thousands cross o'er thy heaving breast, 
Where sunht white-caps kiss the brow, 

And in cradles rock to and fro to rest, 
A-sailing o'er life's stormy sea. 



GENTLE WINDS. 



I hear the gentle winds. 

Like a child at play, 
As a summer's day begins, 

Shaking a rose-leaf in a gentle way. 

Murmuring accents soft and low, 

Fanning sweet perfume from some flower, 

Or kissing some hot brow as you go. 

Singing sweet melodies in a shady bower. 

I hear thee as in days of yore, 

Blowing hither and thither anywhere. 

As a gull seeks her mate on some sandy shore, 
Scaling the ocean's crest high in the air. 

Then, with a long, passionate sigh, 

I hear it slackening as in peace to rest, 

Like some bird that passeth by. 

Lies down to sleep in her leafy nest. 



51 



POEMS AND SONGS BY LEWIS R. WHITE, 



THE GOOD FORGOTTEN. 



There are philosophers and teachers of old, 
Whose works and names unspoken, untold, 
Like spring breezes or flowers in May, 
Time has faded or wafted away. 

They like ancient carvings of art, 
Have been laid away or set apart. 
Whose wise teachings cease being told. 
Have been forgotten and have grown old. 

Other fictions of a senseless sort 
Have changed places of wisdom taught, 
Their names and origins as well. 
And of their works none can tell. 

Why not kindle anew the old flame, 
Practice their teachings of art and fame, 
Our skill using in learning their art. 
Enlightening the mind and heart. 

For it is a shame that they should die, 
Their good works be forgotten and passed by ; 
Young generations taking place should know 
Of those wise men of long ago. 

Their lives they, too, should also form, 

To be patterns for others when they are gone, 

Heroic guides of knowledge and love. 

To that bright land in heaven above. 

Leaving a record when they cross the span. 
Peace on earth, good will to man, 
That will guide other souls on high. 
Leaving records that will never die. 



52 



THE GOOD FORGOTTEN. 



When God put us here it was not his intent 
That our time in idle selfishness be spent, 
And that the good should be forgot, 
Nor that our lives in folly and sin fall short. 



AFTER DARK. 



When twilight gathers in her sheaves, 
And whirling swallows skim the flame, 

The plough-man turns homeward, leaves 
His plow mid furrows in the broom. 

And through the melancholy eaves 

The orange drops its milk-white plume. 

The old delights that go and come 
Through sorrows in the falling dew 

Like waves that were a wreath of foam, 
The darker that the water grew, 

Flowed around my solitary home 
At evening when the stars are few. 

So sad and sweet as bridal tears. 
For broken homes to see withdrawn, 

The child we love has gone ; the years 
We climb the frosty hills and saw 

Descend on the frozen mires, 

The sunlight break through the dew. 

Like one who in the driving snow, 
When all the trodden paths are dim, 

Hears far-off voices faint and low 
Across the woodland calling him, 

I hear the love of long ago 
Singing among the seraphims. 



53 



POEMS AND SONGS BY LEWIS R. WHITE. 

And as the soft dissembling light 
Falls shadowing into darkest red, 

I think how beautiful the night, 

When gathering stars are overspread 

Like seeds of many an old delight. 
Through sheaves of sorrow harvested. 



TRUE EXPERIENCE. 



I have traveled o'er the landscape wide, 

And sailed o'er the billowy seas, 
And rocked upon her foaming tide. 

In many a stormy breeze. 

The rivers and brooks are no strangers to me, 
For many a log over them I have drove. 

Through the swamp's rugged lea. 
And through the forest's grove. 

I have traveled o'er the mountain's lofty height, 
And the pathless swamp I have scanned. 

In many a dark stormy night, 

Trodden by beasts, but seldom by man. 

I have slept upon the mountain's side, 

Beneath the forest's rugged tree. 
With no shelter, no place to hide. 

To keep the pouring rain from me. 

I know how you feel when hungry and dry, 
And to be cast ofif at sea. 
When the waves run mountain high. 
In a storm so blinding I could not see. 



54 



J 



TRUE EXPERIENCE, 

I know how it is from the dear ones to part, 
To be left behind for them to weep, 

And heave a sigh from a broken heart. 
And see them in death fall asleep. 

And yet in my frail bark, 

I am drawing nearer to the shore 

Whose headlights pierce the dark. 

And there is a safe anchorage for evermore. 



THE OCEAN'S DEPTH. 



You and I but little know 
Of the priceless pearls 
And coral reefs, that beneath 
The dark blue ocean's 
Restless waters grow. 

For dark and deep lies the ocean. 
And far apart her borders are, 
Always restless and in motion, 
While her foaming billows 
Lie stretched afar. 

There are many seamen 

That cross it safely o'er, 

While others are lost, 

And sunk beneath the dark, briny waters, 

Never to be heard of more. 

And down they sink 

Beneath the almost fathomless deep. 

And on her briny bottom 

They pillow their heads 

In an eternal sleep. 



55 



POEMS AND SONGS BY LEWIS R. WHITE. 



THE LEAVES. 



It is when the autumn winds are blowing, 
And the cold frosts begin to call, 

When the farmer his harvest is storing, 
That the leaves begin to fall. 

It is when the summer days are o'er. 
And all flowers, both short and tall, 

Have gone to seed to bloom no more, 
That the leaves begin to fall. 

It is when all fruits are ripe 

On vine, and apple trees tall. 
Dropping earthward in hurried flight, 

That the leaves begin to fall. 

It is when the birds fly to a warmer clime, 

Big and little, one and all, 
Where the sun shines all the time. 

That the leaves begin to fall. 

It is when the squirrel gathers in his store 

Of nuts in his cozy hall, 
To last till the cold winter is o'er, 

That the leaves begin to fall. 

It is when the frogs cease peeping. 
Snuggled away in their mud wall, 

There through the winter sleeping, 
That the leaves begin to fall. 

It is when the days have shorter grown. 
And all things have answered to their call, 

And the summer has so quickly flown. 
That the leaves begin to fall. 



56 



THE LEAVES. 



It is when the trees are stark and bare, 
That the snowflakes end the spell, 

Leaving" no foliage anywhere. 
For the leaves have all fell. 



YOUNG EAGLE COMPARISON. 



On the early dawn of a setting day, 

A young eagle glided away from his nest. 

With his pinions strong and plumage gay. 

Never more to return to the home he loved best. 

His heart light and his spirit gay. 

And his eyes had a bright, piercing gleam, 

As through space he bore swiftly away, 
O'er hill and valley, woodland and stream. 

He loved this free way roving. 

All nature intending to survey. 
On river and blue ocean love bestowing, 

His pinions oft dripping in sparkling spray. 

Beneath their depths saw coral reefs below. 
His piercing eye often pierced the deep. 

Oft soaring high above them far below. 

Frolicking with the winds through chasm's sweep. 

One day while soaring through a gap, 

Far below a precipice' lofty sphere, 
A condor watched and caught him in a trap. 

And chained him in the mire. 



57 



POEMS AND SONGS BY LEWIS R. WHITE. 

Imprisonment first seeming not to mind, 

Soon in deep meditation summed up the cost, 

Of lost freedom in shackles tightly bind. 
The humiHation of a lifetime nearly lost. 

All by one indulgent downward flight, 

From a glorious realm in sunny space. 
Captured by the condor, silken bird of night. 

His life to seek in a black, miry place. 

Still thoughts of hope were in his breast. 

That some to grow and thrive, 
While in steel shackles he did his best, 

Keeping his body and spirit alive. 

He strove day by day with clanking chain. 

That oft seemed too hard to drag. 
Often cut and wrenched, leaving naught but pain, 

His proud head bent low and footsteps lagged. 

While from life and flesh he seemed to shrink, 

Till patience with the keys ofttimes unlocked their 
hold, 

And from him dropped the shackle's link. 
Sending forth a revelation to his soul. 

Ah, free at last, with uplifting head 

He looked heavenward towards the sunlighted clouds, 
Forgetting all past and wounded pride, 

As freedom's thoughts his soul enshrouds. 

One quick glance, he beholds the king of day. 
Then, uttering one piercing cry of joyousness, 

Spreading his broad pinions he soars away 
From earth's dark decoy to realms of rest. 



68 



TWO LITTLE BIRDS. 



TWO LITTLE BIRDS. 



Two little birds sat under a tree, 
Just as happy as two birds could be, 
Little robin-redbreast, and his mate, 
In the shady old elm by the gate. 

Two little birds with fluffy breast, 

On a forked limb built a nest 

Out of horsehair and thistledown, 

Of which they wove together, around and around. 

Two little birds, with brown legs, 
In their nest laid two little eggs, 
O'er which they sang with happy spell. 
Showing two bright little blue shells. 

Two little birds with wings to soar. 
Sat, and hatched out two little birds more, 
From two blue eggs laid in the nest, 
That grew to be young robin redbreast. 

Thus two little birds, with two birds more, 

That sang and chirped around the door. 

So you see, two little birds with two little eggs blue. 

When hatched out, made four instead of two. 

So poor little birds once with us here, 
Flew south in the fall of the year, 
With red breasts, and outspread wings, 
That will return in the coming spring, 

To lay, and hatch as they did before. 
In the old elm tree by the front door. 
Two nests they will build, thus poor in twain. 
And hatch out young birds again. 

59 



POEMS AND SONGS BY LEWIS R. WHITE. 



BEFORE AND AFTER. 



I crept along through channels dark, 
And shuddered at every sound, 

And with bloodshot eye watch and hark, 
And in terror and desperation abound. 

My heart grows faint and weak. 
My flesh it shakes with fear, 

I stumble and fall in trying to seek 
Some useless support lying near. 

I writhe and try in vain to arise. 
Within a rocky, narrow slope, 

While fields of corn illume the skies. 
Friends and freedom, life and hope. 

Constant o'er the distant hills calling. 
Some sweet voice I cannot hear. 

For my ear is trained to the squealing 
Of condors and buzzards always near. 

And mine eyes, too, are Wind, 
I cannot see the beacon light. 

While I grope in darkness, trying to find 
Some treasures earth locked tight. 

At last I behold a bottomless chasm. 
From which lost spirits seem to rise 

And shriek in one long spasm. 
For deliverance from on high. 

When suddenly into darkness came 
A flash of light, a golden glare 

That seemed to penetrate this lost brain, 
Driving out shadowy visions there. 



60 



BEFORE AND AFTER. 

Thus a voice calm and clear, 

From the strife and turmoil came, 

That vanished all my doubts and fear. 
Whose enchantment still remains. 

A still small voice that ever thrills. 

That is ever guiding this w^anderer home, 

Ever saying, peace be still, 

Taking the dear ones to their own. 

And there I beheld in the morning light, 

A seeming fairyland of dreams. 
Her fields of corn, her flowers bright. 

Her forest shades, her flowing streams, 

And hear the forest choir singing. 

In one unbroken, joyous strain. 
Before my once sightless eyes bringing 

The lost paradise again. 

Ha, ha, I laugh with joy at last. 

As I behold a mansion fair. 
And know the horrors of a night is passed, 

And that my name is written there. 

Upon walls inlaid with gold. 

Returning to the fairest of the fair, 

A story where half was never told 
Of the bright jewels over there. 



PURITY. 

Her face is a picture of rest. 
While peace lies in her breast ; 
Her eyes are like the stars of heaven, 
A never dying love to her is given. 



61 



POEMS AND SONGS BY LEWIS R. WHITE. 



THE METEORIC STAR. 



It was when the sun's rays 

Sank away in the west, 

And another hard day's labor was o'er, 

I laid me down on my pillow to rest, 

And soon drifted away to 

Dreamland's beautiful shore. 

It was there I saw in the clouds afar 

The dazzling rays of a meteoric star. 

There I saw a crystal sheet 
Of pure, sparkling water bright. 
And the banks shone with diamonds, 
As up and down I loitered, 
Which glittered and sparkled in 
The bright dazzling light. 
It was there I saw in the clouds afar 
The dazzling rays of a meteoric star. 

There I saw a beautiful city. 
With countless mansions untold. 
With golden towers glittering bright, 
And endless streets of shining gold, 
That shone with a brilliant light 
In that fairyland. 

It was there I saw in the clouds afar 
The dazzling rays of a meteoric star. 

In that bright fairyland 

Thousands of people with golden wings. 

And little children and fairies dwell, 

On beautiful harps they play and sing. 

Where there are no dark clouds 

To break the spell. 

It was there I saw in the clouds afar 

The dazzling rays of a meteoric star. 



62 



THE METEORIC STAR. 

Ah, how sad when I awoke 

Was disappointment's cruel stroke, 

To find myself in a bedroom cold and damp, 

With nothing but a little lamp. 

The meteoric star had gone, 

Never to return again, 

While the early dawn shone 

Through the windowpane. 



RANDOM SAYINGS. 



Bright is the star 
That ever twinkles 
Through the night's 

Dismal gloom, 
And bright is the hope 
That shines through ages wrinkled, 

That glitters beyond the tomb. 

Pure is the gold 
That has no dross. 

That adds the man to fame. 
But purer still 
Is a man whose cost 

Leaves a never dying name. 

Small is the object 
That casts no shadows 

In the opposite way. 
And smaller yet is he 
Who does not leave behind 

The object of his day. 



63 



POEMS AND SONGS BY LEWIS R. WHITE. 

Useless is the thistle, 
Whose petals are 

Covered with pinners, 
And more useless is he 
Who tries to get gain 

By committing sins. 

Bitter is the draught 
That is sipped from 

The quashy cup, 
And more bitter is the life 
Of a drunken sot 

Who drinks his wages up. 

Sweet is the morsel 
Put on the tongue 

That leaves a pleasant taste, 
And sweet is the life 
That when hence flung 

Leaves a good name in place. 

Strong is the chain 

That is made to hold. 

By skillful hands driven. 

But stronger yet is the chain of love 

That purifies and keeps the soul, 

In that bright hope of heaven 

That takes away all sin and dross. 

Cleanses the vilest heart, 

Making him ashamed 

Of what he has lost 

When receiving wisdom's past. 



64 



I 



LOOK OUT FOR BREAKERS. 



LOOK OUT FOR BREAKERS. 



Always look out for breakers ahead 
When you are sailing o'er the sea ; 

Never watch with downcast head, 
But erect and watchful ever be. 

Always look out for breakers ahead, 

In calm or tempest tossed, 
For it is the careless who get misled, 

And who ofttimes are lost. 

Always look out for breakers ahead, 
Whether the day is clear or overcast, 

For those are numbered with the dead 
That do not by them safely pass. 

Always look out for breakers ahead, 

In clear or dark, stormy night ; 
Now and again ring the sounding lead 

To make sure that you are all right. 

Always look out for breakers ahead, 

Keeping an eye on port, and starboard light 

Well trimmed, and with oil ever filled. 
O'er the billows shining clear and bright. 

Always look out for breakers ahead. 
O'er your lea, and weather bow, also, 

That some wreck adrift, or misled, 
May far to your leeward by you go. 

Always look out for breakers ahead. 
For some half wrecked ship behind. 

Following in your wake by your binocles led, 
With you a safe refuge may find. 



65 



POEMS AND SONGS BY LEWIS R. WHITE. 



THE SHADES OF NIGHT. 



It is when the clouds roll by, 

And quickly come and go, 
The evening shades draw by, 

And the stars brighter grow, 
When the sun sinks out of sight 
And there appear the shades of night. 

All birds, both great and small. 
That fly to and fro in the breeze, 

Seem to feel a beckoning call 

Back to their homes among the trees. 

They quickly take their flight 

When there appear the shades of night. 

The flowers that bloom, pure and sweet, 
That are spread over hill and dale, 

Their perfume sending forth at our feet, 
Were never known to fail, 

To shut their petals up tight 

When there appear the shades of night. 

The handsome little butterfly 

That on the sweet flowers reposes, 

And in the bright roses low and high. 
Sucking honey from the roses, 

Under the green leaves hiding from sight 

When there appear the shades of night. 

The little ants that live in the knoll 

Are busy workers, too ; 
They close up their entrance hole 

To keep out the rain and dew. 
And are safely hidden from sight 
When there appear the shades of night. 



66 



THE SHADES OF NIGHT. 

The toads and frogs 

That in marshes dwell, 
Jumping over reeds and logs, 

Croaking their songs in happy spell, 
Beginning when the sun sinks out of sight 
And there appear the shades of night. 

The fish that swim in brooks, 

Or in the ocean wide, 
Quickly dart from their shady nooks 

Through the foaming, splashing tide, 
Seemingly heedless in their flight. 
When there appear the shades of night. 

The cattle that graze in pastures green 
Through the long summer's day ; 

Together they are generally seen, 
Toward home making their way, 

With f ■>otsteps slow and light, 

When there appear the shades of night. 

All laborers here below. 

When they their tasks have won, 
Are glad to homeward go 

When their day's work is done, 
Ofttimes weary, but with spirits light. 
When there appear the shades of night. 

The darkness is a shield 

For the bad and good, you know. 
Men and birds and beasts of the field. 

And all that thrive and grow. 
Seek rest in homeward flight 
When there appear the shades of night. 



67 



POEMS AND SONGS BY LEWIS R. WHITE. 



WITH THE TIDE. 



Like a ship upon the ocean, 
That ever onward ghdes, 

Always in motion, 

Rising and falling with the tide, 

Her yards to wind'ard extend. 
With billows on each side. 

Sailing towards her journey's end, 
Rising and falling with the tide. 

Heeding not the ocean's roar, 

But with stretched canvas wide. 

Making for the other shore, 

Rising and falling with the tide. 

Heavy waves on her break 
As she stems a heading tide, 

Leaving behind' a foaming wake 
Rising and falling with the tide. 

She squeaks with heavy freight. 
Rolling from side to side, 
Plowing on early and late, 

Risinw and falling with the tide. 



LOVE. 

Jealous love is the darkness of night, 
While true love pours in the light, 
And carnal love is no love at all, 
And hatred love is the worst of all. 



68 



A SWEET LITTLE MESSENGER OF LOVE. 



A SWEET LITTLE MESSENGER OF LOVE. 



A sweet little messeng^er of love 
To me was sent from heaven above; 
And as he grew day by day, 
To me he pointed out the way. 

And as he ofttimes sat upon my knee, 

I kissed him and stroked his hair, 
With his chubby hands, pointing for me 

Towards heaven and says, "See papa, see up there." 

He loved me with all his little heart, 
And knew that from me he must part. 
It was light love, love divine 
And will through eternity shine. 

Sent by God to me to point out the way. 
Too pure and sweet on earth to stay. 
And from my heart he was severed. 
Plucked from earth to bloom in heaven. 

An impression left upon this heart, 

Ties which death can never part, 

With out-stretched hands in heaven above, 

Is waiting for me, the sweet little messenger of love. 

Oh, those sweet words branded upon my soul, 
Which never can be forgotten as time rolls; 
That sincere look of heavenly love ; 
That chubby hand pointing to heaven above. 

These were the last and dying words 

Which left me in despair. 

"I am papa's baby, and see up there," 

And the sweet little messenger of love was gone. 



69 



POEMS AND SONGS BY LEWIS R. WHITE. 

Incidents that happen here 

Which man cannot control, 
Are ties bound with tears 

That ofttimes saves the soul. 



STICK TO IT. 



When doing a thing that is worth doing at all, 
It makes no difference whether large or small, 
Be sure you are capable of what you undertake. 
And never commence a thing you cannot make. 

For nothing is accomplished through blunders and mis- 
takes. 
Or trying this and that and making breaks, 
For all you have done will be left to spoil, 
And no benefit will you receive from your toil. 

Those who finish nothing never amount to much. 
For they are always commencing with flourishing touch, 
Their first resolutions may be ever so bright and clear, 
Still before they get half through in pops another idea. 

You may work with purpose good and strong. 
And be ever so resolute you will never get along, 
For you will be always trying every new scheme. 
And never finish what might prove a paying theme. 

And thus if you keep on in the crooked way. 
You will always be commencing through life's day, 
And when the sun sets like a swordsman's fencing. 
Still struggling as before just commencing. 



70 



STICK TO IT. 

And thus your experience through life I see, 

A Httle of everything and not much of anything be. 

For you never complete anything you ever did, 

As you always left off right where you first began. 

Knowing part of everything does not form a trade, 
For there is not anything that could be wholly made, 
One thing at a time and that well-done, 
Patience and preseverance is a theme that tells. 

No matter what others show you or what they say, 
Stick right to the same thing day after day, 
You will find in time your labors will be blest. 
And that your faithfulness will prove a success. 

So by doing this you to others a lesson have taught, 
Though hard, when finished a tenfold brought. 
That it was not done by might nor by power, 
But by sticking right to it day and hour. 



FALSE VOWS. 



It was when the sun was sinking, 

Downward in the west ; 
And the bells of evening, 

Were calling the world to rest. 
Amid the blooming rose-bushes, 

By their perfume caressed, 
Lived the farmer's daughter. 

With him she loved the best. 



71 



POEMS AND SONGS BY LEWIS R. WHITE. 

Alas, for him thou waitest, 

Who never will return again ; 
For the footsteps which will never, 

Towards thy bower aim. 
False was the love he uttered, 

In thy trusting ears, 
For the vows he pledged thee, 

Now another hears. 



CUTTING. 



We are a-cutting, 
Some cutting boards 
Others cutting sticks. 
Some cutting wood 
Others cutting bricks, 
Some cutting stone 
Others cutting steel, 
Some cutting bone 
Others cutting deal, 
Some cutting cards 
Others cutting dice, 
Some cutting yards 
Others cutting ice, 
Some cutting tomatoes 
Others cutting beets, 
Some cutting potatoes 
Others cutting feet, 
Some cutting deer 
Others cutting bear. 
Some cutting here 
Others cutting there. 

72 



THE COTTAGE BY THE MILL. 



THE COTTAGE BY THE MILL. 



Once there lived a maiden 

By the name of Lill, 
She a heart of sunshine laden 

Me-thinks I see her still. 

Me-thinks I see her still 

With a kind word and smiling face 
Down by Wings' mill, 

In that quiet country place. 

In that quiet country place 

And by the old mill stream 
There was a woodbine cottage place 

Whose lighted windows gleam. 

Whose lighted windows gleam 

O'er my pathway glittered, 
While by that pebbly stream 

Birds and squirrels chittered. 

Birds and squirrels chittered 
Whose accents were beguiling 

And no diamond ever glittered 

Like the face in the cottage smiling. 

Like the face in the cottage smiling, 

That memory is ever dear 
A sweet voice echoes, times way whirling 

While I am waiting here. 

While I am waiting here. 

The cottage in ruin lies. 
And that face to me once so dear 

Is bound by other ties. 



73 



POEMS AND SONGS BY LEWIS R. WHITE. 

Is bound by other ties 

Ties of which I cannot tell. 
Oft I wipe a teardrop from my eyes 

As I see desolate the cottage by the mill. 

As I see desolate the cottage by the mill, 
And others whose occupants have flown, 

Their voices are forever still. 
Gone to that land unknown. 

Gone to that land unknown 

Where we all soon must go, 
Those left behind to other parts have flown. 

Where I do not know. 

But ah! this I have known, 

And I know it still. 
Time cannot blot out that tone 

Once sang in the cottage by the mill. 

Once sang in the cottage by the mill 

We shall meet no, no never, 
For past are the days we rambled o'er the hill, 

They have passed away forever. 



DESTINY. 



Some weep while others mourn, 
Some die while others are born. 
In this world they are tempest tossed, 
Some are saved while others are lost. 



74 



A RUN FOR LIFE. 



A RUN FOR LIFE. 



As I was walking through the forest, 
One bright day in the middle of June, 

Merrily whistling the chorus 
Of an old favorite tune. 

Not thinking of any danger 

As homeward I was making aim, 

Till I heard the yell of a forest ranger, 
Which was a panther by name. 

Hark ! I stood still to discern the sound. 

What means that fierce wail not far away? 
I thought in this forest must abound 

A fierce panther who had gone astray. 

And I so far from home, with him here. 
Without arms in this forest groping. 

My heart suddenly was filled with fear 
As I quickly ran for the nearest opening. 

And while I ran with might and main. 

As his fierce yells grew nearer. 
He was making good his aim, 

A fact that to me grew clearer. 

Just then I saw in the distance ahead, 

By a ten acre field surrounded, 
A small building newly painted red, 

To which I was anxiously bounding. 

This building in the distance if I could reach, 
As I struggled hard to keep my breath, 

He behind me coming, every leap a screech, 
My capture, whose meaning meant death. 



75 



POEMS AND SONGS BY LEWIS R. WHITE. 

I ran on determined not to yield 

Until I gained the field opening, 
Determined to cheat him out of a meal 

Of which he was longing, hoping. 

Ah, my last effort was gone, expended, 

My breath seemingly stopped, I could not breathe, 

In a heap near the building I landed. 
Leaving him boss of the field. 

As on the ground I rolled, expecting death. 

Trying to breathe, and backward casting my eyes, 

I saw in the edge of the forest Fd just left 
The panther, still uttering his fierce cry. 

He had stopped, and quit the chase, 

And now stood howling at bay, 
It was the red building shining in his face. 

The glimmer of the paint sent him away. 

I never shall forget that run in a forest pathway. 
And how, afterwards, a neighbor with a gun 

Shot him while killing sheep in a pasture. 

Now my story is ended, and my rhyme is done. 



HOW SWEET. 



How sweet are the birds, 
How sweet are the flowers. 

And how sweet are kind words 
Said by dear kind friends of ours 

Who oft cheer our hearts 
In time of remorse and grief ! 

Their joys freely impart. 

Which to us brings relief. 



76 



HOW SWEET. 

How sweet is the coming spring, 

And the breezes that blow, 
Starting new and fresh everywhere, 

Causing the roses to thrive and to grow. 
Brightening our pathway as they kiss the sun, 

On which the dew-drops fall at night. 
Gently watering each sweet one. 

Sending forth sweet fragrance to our delight. 

How sweet is the warm sunshine, 

In the long summer hours. 
And the shadow of the creeping vine, 

And the shade tree's overhanging bower. 
How sweet the brooklet's murmuring fall, 
As it ripples on its course to the sea, 
A refreshing draught freely given to all, 

Neptune's cup pure and free. 

How sweet are all things which God has planned. 

His laws, the earth, the sky, and the sea, 
His wondrous works, his outstretched hand, 

All purely given to you and to me. 
How sweet is his mighty love, 

In which it is heaven to trace. 
And the angels rejoice in Hosannas, 
O'er a heart who receives his grace. 



CIRCUMSTANCES. 



Youth and old age walk hand in hand. 
While poverty and riches inherit the land, 
Some eat too much and cannot rest. 
While hunsrer gnaws in other's breast. 



77 



POEMS AND SONGS BY LEWIS R. WHITE. 



WHEN THE CROWS BEGIN TO CAW. 



When the crows begin to caw, 
Then the snows begin to thaw, 

And the winds once cold and bleak, 
That sweep o'er hill and plain. 

Now grow warm, mild and weak, 
That have moaned with steady strain. 
Till the crows begin to caw. 

When the crows begin to caw. 

Green blades springing from stubbles of straw, 

Brightened by March's southerly winds, 
In the early days of springtime. 

When all green shoots their growth begins, 
And birds come from warmer climes. 
When the crows begin to caw. 

When the crows begin to caw. 
On which we gaze with awe, 

With them rejoice once more. 
That we another spring have seen, 

And the cold icy months are o'er. 
That spring again, starts fresh and green, 
When the crows begin to caw. 

When the crows begin to caw. 
Icy brooks starts in to thaw. 

From their banks buds begin to swell. 
Springing forth to meet the sun. 

That seem to say all is well, 
And spring is well begun. 
When the crows begin to caw. 



78 



IF I COULD ONLY FORGET. 



IF I COULD ONLY FORGET. 



If I could only forget bygone days, 

That smiling face that haunts me still, 

One in which memory traces all her ways 

From home merry song and laughter thrilled. 

If I could only forget the years past 

And the glad welcomes and joyous greetings, 

Long ago memories too sweet to last. 

The loving kiss and fond embrace at meeting. 

If I could only forget at the present 

And remember her smiling face no more, 

That sweet voice ever hopeful and pleasant, 
Ever vibrating in my ears evermore. 

If I could only forget that in the future 
Another form would counteract the old. 

Ah, they are written down like the history of Luther, 
A story ever new, and yet it is old. 

If I could only forget that love sublime 

Like the flame of sunset shining in my heart. 

The happy hours of swift fleeting time 

And the cherished hope when we drifted apart. 

Ah, -forget, forget, forget, no, no never ! 

I change my mind, those were hours of bliss, 
Sweet memories, I will cherish them forever 

Some day, some time, meet the one I miss. 



79 



POEMS AND SONGS BY LEWIS R. WHITE. 



COMPARISONS. 



Belied Looks. 
No matter how crooked a tree you meet, 

Nor how rough and hard it may grow, 
Her fruits may be juicy and sweet, 

And every reason prove true. 

Passion. 
Passion is like a bubble, 

On the ocean crest 
Rising and falling, springing up. 

Never at rest. 
Or like the Tigress in her lair, 

Seemingly at rest, 
One, light or dark, is hidden there, 

Written in that quiet breast. 

Bad. 
By the wayside a thistle grew. 

With tall and rugged joints. 
And beneath its petals grew 

Many piercing points. 

Good. 
Pure and sweet a lily grew. 

Beneath a shady bower, 
Far too sweet to be kissed 

By the evening dew, 
And she is like that flower. 

Right. 
A cork will always float, 

Is never known to sink. 
The truth well spoke 

Causes others to think. 



so 



A LOCK OF GOLDEN HAIR. 



A. LOCK OF GOLDEN HAIR. 



It was from a head, once sound and fair, 

That in the churchyard now lies sleeping, 
That a fond mother cut a lock of golden hair 

Down o'er her neck slowly creeping, 
Thinking not when she removed this treasure, 

That her darling soon would be missed, 
That with tears of sorrow at her leisure. 

She would often look, and whisper this. 

And when with toil she is weak and weary, 

And her heart is filled with care, 
It oft removes and makes her feel cheery 

When she once caresses this lock of golden hair 
Which grew on her darling's head. 

The one that she so dearly loved. 
Which now lies sleeping in her earthly bed, 

While her sweet spirit watches from above. 



THE SERPENT'S CUP. 



The serpent's cup from which many sup, 

Is not the cup for me, 
For every dime passed is one more link cast 

To the chain of death and misery. 

Its poisonous sting has a deadly cling, 

Like the jaws of steel, 
It brings poverty and degradation to all nations 

Who unto it indulgently yield. 



81 



POEMS AND SONGS BY LEWIS R. WHITE. 

The serpent has no pride to set aside, 

No shame to blush from within, 
He with pleasure starts in breaking hearts, 

And chuckles at his sins. 

He has a conscience hard, with no regard 

For either rich or poor. 
All who doth him caress he will bless 

With hell's richest store. 

He has no respect in regard to sex, 

And sneers at every blame. 
But with poisons distilled he works at will, 

And makes good every aim. 

Shame and disgrace to him is commonplace, 
And he cares not for others' needs. 

His abiding place is in slums of disgrace. 
Their ever-crushed souls he feeds. 

His tail he wags at poverty and rags, 
And takes pleasure in crushing souls, 

Once an appetite formed he laughs to scorn 
And loss over his control. 



With pleasure he waits in alleys and gates, 
To freely treat both old and young, 

And rebuked for this he will only hiss, 
"I have got another one on the run." 

In every home where he makes his throne 
There is sorrow, disgrace, pain and despair, 

Many a heart-sick soul that he controls. 
Who has been caught in his snare. 



82 



THE SERPENT S CUP. 



His tills are always kept well filled, 

Last pennies taken from those starving for bread, 
He has done his best and gained all thou possessed, 

Lays them low in a pauper's bed. 

Without stopping to pause he enforces the laws, 

His selfish purpose to maintain, 
Laws that control millions of souls, 

To be dyed by his crimson stain. 

Who shall answer for this sin and shame? 

Fond mothers bound down in poverty and disgrace, 
Whose sunken eyes and hollowed cheeks maintain 

A care-worn look on which self-sacrifice has placed. 

Who watch with fear and hope night and day, 
With sin-sick souls that ever fondly yearn 

For some rum lost son to return reformed some how, 
some way, 
Free from the cup of hell that soul and body burns. 

The cause of many who serve behind the bars. 
For deeds done when demon rum took control, 

Who emerge degraded, marked by unhidden scars, 
Useless, good for nothing, formed once a perfect 
mold. 

Looked upon and despised by all, 

Who would not yield to the poison cup of sin, 
That with pleasure the past ofttimes recall. 

And shudders at the thought of what they 
Would have done or might have been. 



83 



POEMS AND SONGS P.Y LEWIS R. WHITE. 



HARVEST TIME. 



In the fall trees with coats of green, 

Change to purple, red, blue and gold, 
Making a brighter and more beautiful scene. 

When from their branches seeds unfold. 

Within their boughs hidden from sight, 

Young birds from their nests appear, 
That now are ready to take their flight 

To a warmer clime far from here. 

And the honey-bee is ceasing to roam 

On flowers and clover that blossom no more, 

For he with honey has filled his comb 

Who for the winter has harvested a golden store. 

The squirrel, too, is as busy as can be 

Gathering nuts for his winter store. 
Hiding them in the old hollow tree, 

To keep them till the winter is o'er. 

The farmer, too, with his golden grain, 

And his yellow crop of golden corn. 
Has got enough till it grows again. 

To feed all his stock and family on. 

Also plums, peaches and pears, 

And berries of all kinds, red and ripe, 

Put away in glass jars down stairs. 
On the old swing shelf out of sight. 

The snap-corn, too, the boys have traced, 

Hangs on the hooks overhead. 
To pop evenings in the old fire-place, 

Grand sport making their cheeks red. 



84 



HARVEST TIME. 



How sweet are the days of autumn, 
The rich harvest time of fall, 

Treasures laid on shelf and cellar bottom, 
A golden store for us all. 



LOOK FOR THE LIGHT. 



Amid life's hustle and bustle. 
Of care's work and tussle. 

Look for the light. 
Do not think what may happen on the morrow, 
And from dark imaginations trouble borrow. 
But strive with all your might, 

To look for the light. 

When disappointments vex the soul 
And darkened waters fiercely roll. 

Look for the light. 
Do not plunge into them in despair, 
And think that you will end it there, 
But look beyond this earthsome flight. 

Look for the light. 

When slanderous winds fiercely howl. 
And like monster lions growl, 

Look for the light. 
Do not let them dismast the hull. 
But say peace be still, there will be a lull, 
Stick to the demand of the giant, 

And look for the light. 



S5 



POEMS AND SONGS BY LEWIS R. WHITE. 

When suppositions, fog, and clouds 
Seem to hang o'er you Hke shrouds. 

Look for the Hght. 
Change not your course of belief. 
For hidden yonder lies the reef 
In the darkness, out of sight, 

Look for the light. 

Though the hull is weather-beaten o'er, 
Stick to the wheel, pull for the shore, 

Look for the Hght, 
And keep athwart the keel. 
Over the rollers foaming wild. 

Look for the light. 



WHEN THE RAIN BEGINS TO FALL. 



When the rain begins to fall, 
Striking roof and window pane, 

Watering and refreshing one and all, 
That is under its earthward aim. 

When the rain begins to fall. 
Coming forth in crystal sheet. 

The boys laugh, the girls squall. 

There is quick tread of noisy feet. 

When the rain begins to fall 

On its refreshing earthward tour. 

Beast of every kind, one and all, 
Are sent for shelter to make sure. 



86 



WHEN THE RAIN BEGINS TO FALL. 

When the rain begins to fall 

In its stormy driving blasts, 
It lays the dust and cleans the wall 

And makes greener grow the grass. 

When the rain begins to fall 

From the dark and cloudy sky, 
The birds love to be in it all 

And the frogs overwhelmed with joy cry. 

When the rain begins to fall 

Where the rivers and brooks are low, 
It cleanses and washes the spoils 

In their rise and overflow. 

When the rain begins to fall 

And the clouds are hanging low, 

You can hear the thunder's loud calls, 
That the whole world may know. 

When the rain begins to fall. 

You quickly discern the lightning flash, 
And it seems to terrify us all 

When the elements meet with a crash. 

When the rain begins to fall, 

From the blue sky above, 
The One who made heaven, and earth, and all 

Will protect those whom He loves. 

When the rain begins to fall 

Do not shriek or fear. 
For it is a blessing that on us falls, 

Sent by God to benefit us here. 

When the rain begins to fall. 

We should bless His holy name 

That He has sent it unto this earthly ball, 
To revive and water it once again. 



87 



POEMS AND SONGS BY LEWIS R. WHITE. 



DAYS OF LONG AGO. 



It was in by-gone days of long ago, 
And I lived upon a farm you know 
In Maine, that good Old Pine Tree State, 
And how things went I will relate. 

Then everything raised upon a farm 
Was done by the skill of the human arm. 
Prom early spring till late in fall 
Both men and women did it all. 

Then boys and girls were of better stuff. 

They were healthy, rugged and tough. 

It was the rye bread and corn cake 

That made their cheeks red and eyes wide awake. 

Girls then drove ox-teams in the field, 
Bound grain, or turned the spinning wheel, 
And in the barn helped do the chores 
Especially if there were more girls than boys. 

Thinking nothing of the work to be done 
And just aching for sport and a little fun. 
Walk to the neighbors five miles away. 
To some paring bee, or husking play. 

There after peeling apples and popping corn 
They cleared away, then formed on, 
Laughed, and joked, and partners chose. 
Clogged it down, in their cow-hide shoes. 

They were not propped up like they are now, 
With whalebone and wire rats on their brow, 
They wore homespun, neat and clean, 
With their hair smoothed back in a little pug. 



DAYS OF LONG AGO. 

They knew how to cook over a fireplace 
Where they scorched their hands and face 
Turning the bread in the baker once or twice 
To cook both sides brown and nice. 

In the coals roasted potatoes, nice as could be, 
While on the grate they boiled the tea, 
And coffee, too, they did not have to buy 
For they made it out of peas and rye, 

Baking it in the brick oven, black as coal, 
Then pounding it with a pestle in a mortar bowl, 
Where they baked beans and pumpkin pies, 
Chickens and puddings that you surprise. 

They used to weave dress goods, linens and socks 

Carpets and cloth for pants and frocks. 

Make their soap and soda, too, 

Sweep with cedar broom the whole year through. 

They made their butter and churned also. 
And every Sunday in an ox-cart to meeting go. 
In woolen gown and bonnet strings in place 
They were proud enough without painting their face. 

Harvesting then meant something grand, 
A dozen men to thrash grain by hand 
All day going slam bang with wooden flails 
And drinking apple juice out of wooden pails. 

I tell you that farming was then a delight 
When they worked all the day and half of the night. 
Lighting up with tin lantern and tallow candle 
To see how much each man could handle. 

I think by saying this, I will end my rhyme, 

That the improvements all around 

Show the work of time. 

And if man keeps on as in days gone by 

All he will have to do is to look on, 

And see everthing done by the wink of the eye. 



POEMS AND SONGS BY LEWIS R. WHITE. 



WHO THE HEROES ARE. 



A boy is a hero, who can say no, 

And stick to good resolutions strong, 
Who does not mind how others may go, 

That will not be influenced to do wrong, 
Who every day is found to be doing right 

And whose comrades cannot lead astray, 
That for truth and honor unflinchingly fights, 

Who will conquer them every day. 

All honor to the boy who can say no, 

Who has courage to do what is right, 
For he may have conquered a powerful foe, 

He has got a hard battle to fight. 
There is many a brave little soldier 

That has put numbers to rout 
And set an example for those older. 

Showing that he knew what he was about. 

He who fights single-handed, I say. 

Is more of a hero than soldiers in battle, 
That with armies has conquered in fray 

Among thousands, where cannons rattle. 
So be steadfast when tempted to do wrong, 

The right be your battle cry ever. 
By the colors of manhood stand firm and strong 

In life's warfare till the end shall sever. 

For He who knows all of the heroes, 

Will give you the strength for the strife, 
And on the battlefield conquer all of your foes, 

Protecting and blessing your Hfe. 
So my boy be firm and steadfast ever. 

And to wrongs and evils never yield, 
But the hero's spotless banner wave forever 

On life's rugged battlefield. 



90 



TIME BY THE WATCH. 



TIME BY THE WATCH. 



I have a watch that time is keeping, 
While we are awake or a-sleeping 
And on its center pivot stands, 
Slowly moving two pointed hands, 
That never sleep, that never slumber, 
Ever busy pointing out the numbers 
Stamped within its circled place, 
That is plainly seen upon its face. 

And it also ticks out every minute 

By the second hand made within it 

Going round and round so quick, 

Numbering the seconds with a tick. 

Ticking sixty times to once around, 

While the long hand slowly marks it down, 

Thus the minutes by seconds are filled 

And the short hand once an hour moving slower still. 

On and on it goes ever moving. 
And not a second's time ever losing. 
Whether we work, or whether we play. 
Month in and month out, day after day. 
Till years and years have rolled on, 
A record keeping of time passed and gone, 
By us to be occupied and well-filled. 
An account of which we shall be held. 

So let us while it is day and the sun shines, 
Study, and improve our minds. 
That we with time may wiser grow 
Helping ourselves and others as we go, 
That we may gain honor and fame 
That leads to wealth and a good name, 
When at the close of life's evening 
Benefit others when we are gone. 



91 



POEMS AND SONGS BY LEWIS R. WHITE. 



DANIEL BOONE. 



It was when the country was new, 

Where cities are now, then forests bloomed, 
That pilgrims started for me and you, 

In the days of Daniel Boone. 

Many hardships they went through 

And many a hero met his doom 
In forests wild, and in the canoe, 

In the days of Daniel Boone. 

When through the brush Indians crept 

With war-paint and feathered plume, 
Killing the immigrants while they slept, 

In the days of Daniel Boone. 

They swung the tomahawk, and scalping knife, 

Many fell in life's full bloom, 
In making a business of taking human life, .1| 

In the days of Daniel Boone. 

They burnt, scalped and plundered. 

And the war-hoop was a familiar tone, jl 

Then they the white man out-numbered, | 

In the days of Daniel Boone. I 

They then burnt them to the stake, 

Dancing the war dance wile they consumed. 

There many a brave man met his fate, 
In the days of Daniel Boone. 

There were many bloody fights, 

Arrows whistled and flintlocks boomed. 
Each fighting for his own rights. 

In the days of Daniel Boone. 



92 



DANIEL BOONE. 

Though history days have long passed by, 
And the flower of peace is in full bloom, 

We must not forget the heroic spy 
By the name of Daniel Boone, 

Who was loved and honored by all. 

At last he with a smile met his doom, 
Faithfully answering to the bugle call, 

A hero was old Daniel Boone. 

Now may we do as he has done. 

Be honest, true and brave, 
We will have friends ever won 
That will carry our names beyond — 
The silence of the grave. 



SOLDIERS MEMORIAL VERSES. 
(Written on Decoration Day 1910.) 



Decoration Day, one to us so dear. 
Old memories refreshed anew. 

Of friends and heroes once with us here, 
Who were ever brave and true. 

Now yonder quietly sleeping 
Beneath their low green tents, 

We their records ever keeping 
Of brave hearts well-spent. 

Brave heroes of the past 

Whose names are ever spoken. 

For us giving their lives till the last, 
Shining from pen and token. 



93 



POEMS AND SONGS BY LEWIS R. WHITE. 



Like rays of sunlight cast 

Their Hves shine forth today, 
Causing freedom's laws to pass, 

Giving their rights full sway. 

We can only show our gratitude 

By performing an act so small, 
In which o'er thy green coverlet strewed 

Let thanks and flowers fall. 

We still hold within our care 

The colors for which they died, 
Star Spangled Banner high in air, 

The nation's joy and pride. 

Bright standard, blue, white and red, 

Evermore to us a priceless pearl 
For which these heroes fought and bled, 

O'er them we their colors unfurl. 

Now may we do as they have done, 

Steadfastly stick to the right, 
Wrong doings and evils shun, 

And for freedom's cause unflinchingly fight. 



DO NOT SAY HE IS ONLY A CRIPPLE. 



Do not say he is only a cripple, 
Neither use him to crack a joke, 

For there is many an enlightened brain 
And honest heart beneath a crooked yoke. 



94 



DO NOT SAY HE IS ONLY A CRIPPLE. 

Do not say he is only a cripple 
And with disgust from him turn, 

For ofttimes within that candid mind, 
There is wisdom you might learn. 

Do not say he is only a cripple 
As though he amounts to naught, 

For there may be things that he can do 
Which in a life-time you could not. 

Do not say he is only a cripple 

As though his life's journey was nearly o'er, 
For he may hobble around for years 

After you've gone to the other shore. 

Do not say he is only a cripple 

And sneeringly count him done, 
For it may be only possible 
That his life's work is but just begun. 

Do not make light of what others 

Cannot help, 
But try to get enlightened 

And help some others. 

And if you try to help others 

In the way of doing good. 
Others will help you 
If they find you have done 

The very best you could. 

So let us work together 

Always as brothers. 
And work with all our might, 

Always helping others 
In the way of doing right. 



95 



POEMS AND SONGS BY LEWIS R. WHITE. 



WINGED WINDS 



Blow ye winged winds, 
O'er sea and landscape wild, 
Hither and thither as thou will, 
There is none to hinder or beguile. 
No ear measured thine endless strain, 
Nor ere see thee on thy throne. 
Thou art the joy and sorrow of man, 
With gentleness and strength unknown. 

Sweet as opening buds of May 

Are thy soft balmy wings, 

Rocking flowers gently in thy way, 

Driving heat and coolness brings. 

But when as in anger blast. 

Like a mighty giant with reason bereft, 

The massive oak in shreds are cast. 

When thou poundeth the ocean against the ships. 

Thou pileth her up in foaming heaps. 
Oft sweep villages and cities away, 
Tearing the tops of mountain peaks. 
And sweeping the clouds all thy way. 
Then thou art gone as ere before, 
And yet with these eyes I see thee not. 
Only know when thine anger is o'er. 
And once was thrift, now is aught. 

Oft I hear thy voice, low and sweet. 

With musical enchantment touching the past. 

Thy whistling and weird sighs all complete, 

Seems to sympathize and set apart. 

Like some welcome voice of the past 

That came unsought to whisper low, 

Remindless of shipwreck cast, 

Or refreshing draught when laying to. 



96 



WINGED WINDS. 



But ah, how shrill in tempest soar, 
How deafening in thunder peal, 
With fear I crouch till all is o'er, 
And lower sounds thy bugle squeal 
Like some lost spirit cast. 
Grows fainter and fainter still. 
As with bitter moan o'er the past, 
At last ending, peace be still. 

At last ending, peace be still 

For there is One who is mightier than I, 

His word is law to be all fulfilled. 

Ruler o'er heaven, and earth, and sky, 

Who like the winged winds unseen, 

Doth plainly speak and declare, 

Is King o'er all and reigns supreme. 

And we know that he is there. 



THE OLD GRAY WALLS. 



H these old gray walls could but speak, 

Of incidents that happened long ago, 

They would make the strongest heart 

Grow pale, sick, faint and weak. 

Tell of heartless sins, of weal and woe. 

Of covered crimes, and resurrections dark. 

Done by kings and honored knights. 

That made the laws, and sat on the throne, 

To which the people bowed, whether right, or wrong, 

Without a single sigh or a groan, 



97 



POEMS AND SONGS BY LEWIS R. WHITE. 

Without a single sigh or groan, 

Many an innocent one has been laid low, 

That some knight might gain his selfish end. 

That he more honored and richer might grow. 

To whom the gods of gold had to bend, 

With imitation smile and heart of lead, 

To live and die a tortured sacrifice. 

Her heart in another's breast, to him was dead and cold. 

Their own flesh and blood as an honored prize. 

Hearts as tools of which to handle gold. 

Heart as tools of which to handle gold. 

Inside of those old gray concord walls. 

With her dungeons and many secret places. 

Long vacated, shattered, old and gray. 

And yet from which song and voices fall, 

In whose windows are seen visions of pale faces, 

Whose tortured spirits cry out in agony to-day, 

For they seem to be chained in torment 

With the inseparable chain of monarchical pride, 

For which they have murdered, secreted and spent, 

In which innocent souls have suffered, and died. 

In which innocent souls have suffered and died. 
Swapped, bought, sold, peddled out, and given away, 
Golden birds with golden plumage and silken breast, 
Having no voice, simply tools, nothing to say. 
Where many a broken heart, beat beneath a rounded 

chest. 
And thus the old gray walls are but tokens, 
Landmarks or memorial works of the past, 
They, their historical records have plainly spoken. 
Their ancient days that have long been cast, 
Whether false or true are but lessons 
For us all to learn as we pass. 



98 



THE CORNER-STONE. 



THE CORNER-STONE. 



When to lay the corner-stone 

Is in the days of youth, 
You start to build then alone, 

When all the world is new, 
And life looks sweet and long. 

Filled with many pleasures, 
Good, bad, right and wrong. 

So be careful how you measure. 

When you lay the corner-stone, 

Lay it true and firm. 
So that time can ne'er dethrone 

The corner from its proper place, 
Though the building set thereon 

May crumble and decay, 
Yet the foundation it rests upon 

Will ever firmly stay. 

When you lay the corner-stone, 

Lay it for a purpose deep. 
For it is you that must atone, 

If it amounts to naught. 
So view your plan with skeptic eye. 

And make your measurements plain. 
So that when ages have passed by. 

The corner-stone will still remain. 

When you lay the corner-stone. 

Be not disheartened by frowns or jeers. 
Or weeks or months or years, 

For it is only those who stand the test, 
That with patience ever toil. 

Who do it well, who do it best, 
And works with a skillful hand. 
That lays a corner-stone that stands. 



99 



POEMS AND SONGS BY LEWIS R. WHITE. 



WAITING AT THE CLOSE OF DAY. 



I am patiently waiting here 

For the angels to appear. 
And listening for their command 

To go with them across the way, 

Beyond the night, into day, 
Into the promised land. 

Although the flesh is weak, 

The spirit peace doth seek, 
Now that the day is nearly at a close, 

How sweet it seems, just began 

And now the shade, that dark span 
Where the weary seeks repose. J 

Though young, and life was bliss, 

I look beyond a world, like this. 
With all her cares and perplexing ties, 

And think of those whose days are long 

Who anxiously wait for the dawn, j 

That they may bound away in glad surprise. ] 

I smile when I think what I have gained 

By not staying longer in a world of pain. 
Where separations ever rent the heart, 

How glad they go and leave behind a smile, 

Who meet dear ones waiting there all the time, 
Long left behind from which they had to part. 

I know my day's work is nearly done, 

I wait the fast setting sun, 
Ah, how dull its dyed flame, 

We mark the change, when it rises in the morn, 

With our rest a new day is born, 
We awake free from tired limbs of pain. 



100 



WAITING AT THE CLOSE OF DAY. 

I know I have not long to wait, 

For now I am just outside the gate, 
Me-thinks I see that city of love, 

With her mansions and pearly structures. 

Where the chosen of God are sure to meet, 
Redeemed evermore in heaven above. 

Happier days than e'er before, 

Eternal, and with the redeemed evermore, 

There to dwell with that happy throng. 
Where all is liberty, peace and love. 
With God around the throne in heaven above. 

Evermore to sing one blissful song. 

Where sweet melodies make heaven ring. 

And smiles of welcome overwhelming gladness bring. 

Ah, yes, I, like a chained bird, 

Long to break loose from these fetters of pain, 
And with spread wings soar away, free again. 

To a realm where no bondage e'er bestirred, 

To break an eternal spell of bliss. 

Far different from disquietude like this 

Where aught but purity comes to wiser grow. 

Ah, yes ! to that heavenly vision my spirit clings, 
Hark, listen ! the angels are coming, I hear wings, 

The day is closed, and I must go. 



THE TRELLIS AND VINE. 



A creeping vine once entwined 
Her dingers around a trellis. 
Day by day she upward stemmed, 
Stronger and ranker grew. 
Sending forth shoots to climb. 
With a dark greenish hue. 

101 



POEMS AND SONGS BY LEWIS R. WHITE, 

Soon the trellis covered o'er, 
With giant fibers, entangled mass, 
Now unseen yet loaded evermore. 
And as day after day passes on. 
Like nights the sun by him unseen 
For he was there for her to lean upon. 

Must he be content with his lot, 
While she thrives o'er him there, 
Bound and hidden and forgot, 
While her dark petals kiss the dew 
With poison blossoms never sought, 
Of still darker hue? 

When the winds with gentle rock. 
Waves the branches to and fro, 
He heeds not, but minds the shock. 
As by time he has brittler grown. 
He feels the dingers' tightening lock, 
Answering back with squeaking moan. 

As her flowers brighten for the seed, 
On which the passer-by admires. 
Who longs to pluck the poison weed. 
And pin it to their breast, 
Curiously does not try to succeed. 
But ever unmolested lets it rest. 

Beneath her foliage bats and beetles hide 

From the sun's piercing rays, 

Minges and mosquitoes abide 

Until the approaching shade of night 

Under which the fox often hides. 

Softly hidden out of sight. 



102 



THE TRELLIS AND VINE. 

At last comes the fall 
With her tales of g-ood and bad, 
The creeping vine no longer crawls, 
Shedding her leaves, her dingers stop, 
Her sap back to the roots freely falls. 
And leaves behind her crop. 

But alas, her aim of nothing gained, 
For there the fox has dug his hole. 
A broken root by life's sap strained, 
In growing time she springs not forth 
To enjoy her rank career again. 
From which the trellis loaths. 

Now that she is but naught, 

And the dead vine is cast one side, 

Her seed has sown but she is forgot, 

Scattered thither by the winds 

Now no more but left to rot, 

The vine of many prickly pins. 

The trellis once thickly covered o'er, 
Now racked and bent views the sun. 
And yet he fills with pride once more, 
Straightens up his weather-beaten form 
That shows the work of ancient lore. 
Oft tested in many a storm. 

He once more firmly stands 
By the rose put in place, 
Prouder feels at her command, 
When she on him gently reposes, 
He shudders in memory of the vine. 
But smiles upon the fairest roses. 



103 



POEMS AND SONGS BY LEWIS R. WHITE, 



THE OVERCAST. 



In journeying up the cragged peaks of time, 

O'er an uneven treacherous span, 
Looking back upon its steep incHne, 

On ragged slopes, homes of mortal men, 

Whose ill-shaped summits pierce the sky. 
Where darkened wall of sticky mass. 

That aught but grinning skulls and ruin lie 

Upturned faces toward the starry realms cast. 

Alas, alas, this is but a land of horrid dreams, 
Tornadoes, earthquakes and ruinous blasts, 

Where the king with his helmet and saber gleams 
Without mercy, all to slay in tangled mass. 



Whose agonizing cry upward winning the summits 
beyond, 

Echoing their miseries, pain and woe. 
Where bleached skeletons in slimy vaults abound. 

Leaving no trace where the occupant had to go. 

Leaving behind their unfinished works of care. 

In whose dying clenched hands show continued strife. 

Records written upon the winged winds, foul or fair, 
Of high heroes of the slums tells of ended strife. 

No more to be heard, the saber or screeching shell, 
Nor the bloody battles' din and cannon roar, 

When like some weary sigh, whispers all is well, 
None to climb times rocky height, for she is no more. 

Then the king of death shall conquered fall, 
And his bloody armor melt with fervent heat. 

When the King of kings and God o'er all 

In the new Jerusalem forever reigns all omnipotent. 



104 



THE NARROW WAY. 



THE NARROW WAY. 



Why should this narrow mind, 
So bound to earth, be indined 

Beneath the sun's scorching rays, 
On a barren, desert sand 

Where vanities and dreams pass away 
And sorrow and pleasure walk hand in hand? 

Where toilsome years of strife, 

And sorrows and burdens crush out the life, 

Like dark clouds o'er the landscape passing 
Ever coming and going, with onward flight, 

Hopes of earthly places not lasting, 
Stars just beyond the human sight? 

Never looking beyond or stopping 
To discern the sands of life dropping 

On time's ocean tidal wave. 
Drifting gently, drifting far from shore, 

Whose lodging place is but the grave. 
There to stay till all is o'er. 

Lashed to earth, without hope. 
Gold and wealth to enrope. 

Leaving behind to rancour and rust, 
Or left to those who will do the same, 

A misspent life, lost, turned to dust 
With no hope above, and behind no name. 

To be foreot and anicklv passed by, 
Like leaves or chaff, that winded fly, 

With all of the tiseless treasured toil, 
Which vou have spent a life time to secure, 

Left behind to rust and sooil 
Where naught remains, but dross impure. 



105 



POEMS AND SONGS BY LEWIS R. WHITE. 

Ah ! no, from the narrow life we should refrain, 
Looking beyond these colors of stain, 

Beyond the fleeting showers that pass, 
Yes, beyond the dark clouds of night 

Gathering in the sunbeams o'er us cast, 
And enjoying the stars' twinkling light. 

Traveling on and up, with hearts aglow. 
Enjoying this uneven journey as we go, 

And for bad or good giving thanks, 
It lightens our burdens, all the while 

Driving bitterness, like enemies, from our ranks. 
Sweetening the acid of life with a smile. 

How sweet is a smile through tears, 
And youthful faces on those of years, 

Who like brave soldiers have stood the test. 
The scorching heat or hurricane's blast, 

Hearts of gold in honest breast. 
Names and hopes that eternal last. 



WHEN WOMAN TAKES THE LEAD. 



When woman takes the lead 

And in the White House sits, 
They will enforce the laws that men need 

And all go keeping house a-right, you bet. 
They will break rings and grafters spoil 

And make all scheming rascals walk straight. 
And soreheads go back to tilling the soil. 

When they take charge of the White House gate. 



106 



WHEN WOMAN TAKES THE LEAD. 

When woman lakes the lead 

The world then will wiser grow, 
And in all branches they will prove the need 

Of the wisdom that is needed so, 
In regard to foreign trade and tonnage dues 

How all commercial traffic should be done. 
And all branches of business between all nations, too, 

The way vessels and steamers should be run. 

When woman lakes the lead 

There will be no more wrecks or disasters, 
For they all know just how to succeed 

By running a little slower or a little faster. 
Railroad timetables, too, will be changed 

And run in the way and manner fit to be. 
For the men a double fare will be arranged, 

But the woman will ride free. 

When woman lakes the lead 

There will be no more liquor in the land, 
For it is a drink they do not need 
And must be stopped with a giant hand. 
Rumshops closed, distilllers stopped. 

All liquor traffic put to an end. 
Then will be the time you will hear something drop 

When woman rights extend. 

When woman lakes the lead 

Tobacco, too, will be put to rout, 
They will stop the growers of the filthy weed 

And every user will have to cut it out. 
No more obnoxious scented halls, 

No more distasteful nicotine perfumes, 
It will have received its last call, 

At last an everlasting death doom. 



107 



I 



POEMS AND SONGS BY LEWIS R. WHITE. 

When woman takes the lead 

There will be no more cigarettes or morphine dopes, 
For the malefactors who sow death's seed 

Will be made powerless beyond all hopes. 
Young men then will grow and thrive, 

Their brain then will be active and quick, 
And woman will let you know they are alive, 

And how easy to do this simple trick. 

When woman takes the lead 

There will be no more societies or clubs. 
Men coming home in the morning with reeling speed, 

Telling their wives nothing, poor little scrubs, 
When they are the ones that ought to know 

It all, just how, when and where, 
They will put an end to this secret show 

While he stays at home and she takes the air. 

When woman takes the lead 

And all turn out to vote 
They will show class and speed, 

And leave the man behind with his hitched goat 
To growl and ponder o'er the past. 

Over the blunders and mistakes he has made, 
Blessing the Lord for what has happened at last 

Through the energies of the skirt parade. 



108 



FALL OF THE YEAR. 



FALL OF THE YEAR. 



When the winds loudly whistle, 
Scattering the downy-seeded thistle, 
Stripping the leaves from forest trees. 
Merely whirling them in the air, 
Leaving hedges and woodlands bare. 

But cedar, spruce, hemlock, and pine, 
Scattering them o'er frost-bitten fields everywhere, 

They settle down for winter time. 

Then the rose that grew beside the door, 
With the barren stalks, but frost-bitten o'er, 
When the merry birds of a summer's day, 
With hurried flight have gone south away. 

When the corn is gathered from the field, 
Then the herds come bleating to the fold, 

And bare are pastures, summer's yield. 
When they are fed, and sheltered from the cold. 

No more is heard the crow, and henhawk. 

All have flown but the winter wood-chuck. 

And the bull-frog's croak is silent and still. 

No more is heard the song of the whip-poor-will, 

The flame of the minge and mosquitoes are gone, 
While rain and sleet beats on the window pane. 

And cold and bleak are the storms 
Of fall that have returned again. 

Soon merry children with cheeks aglow 
Will be playing ball with ice and snow, 
Glad that the cold weather has come, 
When they can slide, skate, and run. 

And in the evening pop corn by the fire, 
While the flames of the chimney roar, 

And the old folks look on and admire 
Sons and daughters merely run to and fro. 



109 



POEMS AND SONGS BY LEWIS R. WHITE. 



THE PLACE A SAILOR LOVES. 



I love the dear old ship, 

That sails upon the sea 
That like a cradle rocks and tips, 

The dearest place on earth for me. 

I love to look out o'er her quarter, 

As she shoots through the spray, 
And quickly obey the given orders. 

While she swiftly sails on her way. 

I love to see her white canvas sails 

All stretched out before the wind. 
And see the spray splash on her sails 

And through the lea scuppers spin. 

I love her ever rolling, restless hull. 
To me it seems like a thing lifelike. 

The swimming swan, or the flying gull. 
Ever on her course, swiftly making flight. 

I love to hear the angry billows roar. 
And watch her fearlessly stem the gale, 

I know she is safe when far from shore, 
Where rocky reefs and dangers prevail. 

I love her ever-moving, onward flight, 

With blue below and blue o'erhead. 
With the moon and stars for candle lights, 

Blessings on the bold seaman shed. 

For did not Columbus his ship adore 
When he sailed o'er the blue waters? 

And glad when he discovered America's shore. 
The home of the free sons and daughters. 



110 



THE SPIDER. 



THE SPIDER. 



In some well chosen place 

The spider weaves his silken web, 
There to ensnare with easy grace. 

Some fair wanderer, perchance misled, 
Falls within the silken sheen, 

Woven so neat and finely spread. 
Where he with downcast eyes seems to dream. 

Hid within his palace den. 
Whose words are few and softly said. 

He patiently watches the moving throng 

That is ever passing to and fro. 
And amusingly chants love's song 

In pathetic melodies of long ago; 

Smiling and drawling with unconcerned face 
With eyes that seem to have a far-off glare. 

He smiles, he loves, and walks with elastic tread 
Toward some innocent fly near his lair 

To charm with words oily spread. 

A pretended accident in their meeting. 

Simply love at first sight ; 
How supremely sweet is his smile at greeting, 

Anything he would do if he only had the right, 
In truly befriending such as she. 
How fortunate she should meet him 

In a place where all is new and strange ; 
With gratitude her eyes grow dim 

How beautiful the future he seems to arrange 



111 



POEMS AND SONGS BY LEWIS R. WHITE. 

In finding her a job so soon, too, 

Where she is sure to get her twenty a week, 
Just to entertain, and nothing to do 

But laugh and sing, so to speak. 

And it is this around her his web he spins 
In an encircling interwoven mass, 

She is entangled in his snare, 
When too late she see the dye's cast 

And knows why she was thus led there. 



PERSEVERANCE. 



In the pathway of life I run 

On smooth and rugged soil. 
Though experience teaches when young 

The ways in which I should toil. 

Although this world confine 

My restless spirit as I older grow. 

And perishable substances entwine, 
I wonder why it should be so. 

That I in works and speech 
Yield without regard to choice. 

While others are blest with gold and cash 
Have both talents and rejoice. 



112 



THE ECHO. 



THE ECHO. 



Ofttimes in youth's happy days, 

When Hke the wild flowers that grow, 
Of which I used to gather from far away, 

While merely answering to the echo. 

While merely answering to the echo 

That through the forest bounded, 
The same accents giving back high or low, 

In my youthful ears surrounded. 

In my youthful ears surrounded, 

Like some unseen mocking" spirit lost. 

While I was in pleasure's surrounding, 
Thinking not of time, or cost. 

Thinking- not of time or cost. 

Nor the days that so quickly pass. 
Till in manhood I was lost, 

The happy days of youth too short to last. 

The happy days of youth too short to last, 

I like the flowers, had riper grown. 
Which fleeting years had upward tossed. 

That seem to echo back, days past, flown. 

That seems to echo back, days past, flown, 

Of thoughtless years or good gifts honestly earned. 

With happy memory or bitter moan. 
Like the echo, they seem to return. 

Like the echo, they seem to return. 

When the flowers of life are no longer gay, 
Withered with age o'er which to smile or yearn. 

Life's long day, like the echo, seems to return. 



113 



POEMS AND SONGS BY LEWIS R. WHITE. 

Life's long day, like the echo, seems to return, 
Like dreams imprest upon the heart, 

Fire of wrong, or right, which burn. 
Returning from whence we cannot part. 

Returning from whence we cannot part, 
Until our own voice is silent and still. 

And life's last days are forever cast, 
Ceasing to vibrate back the human will. 

Whose last faint echo dies away beyond. 
In a dark unseen chasm to mortal eye. 

Leaving aught behind but footsteps formed. 
Tokens that soon wither and die. 



AN UNPLEASANT PRESENT POSITION. 



Things unseen, unknown. 

Of which we call fate, 
To us through pain and sorrow shone, 

We know when too late. 

Broken and crushed like a flower 

By the storm king riven. 
With a smile we look back upon the hour 

When earth to us was heaven. 

But ah, bow rai the present time. 

And yet how sweet the memories flow, 

Of loving friends, their smiles all combined, 
In davs not \o"S[ ajro. 



114 



NATURE. 



NATURE. 



Nature nourished aright and well 

Is sure to brings forth a golden store, 
The green blades spring forth, and buds swell, 
And earth with fragrant beauty covered o'er, 
The birds spring forth in a joyous throng, 

As from some unknown, far-off realm. 
To cheer us with their presence and gladsome song. 

As if with gratitude o'erwhelmed. 

The gentle rain and dew-drops fall 

And brightly shines forth that gorgeous sheen. 
To nourish all seeds both large and small. 

That has in the folds of mother earth fell between, 
That they may spring forth and decorate anew 

The same spot their ancestors priced so high. 
Flowers of all shapes and colors, too. 

To heal, to nourish, to kill, or please the eye. 

And mankind like these are similar, too, 

He hangs to earth the body to sustain. 
There are kinds and colors of every hue 

On which falls the sunshine and the rain. 
Nourished by earth whose bud and bloom 

Fully given to their own control, 
And they ripen and fall back into the tomb, 

Whose past beauty and fragrance is the soul. 



115 



POEMS AND SONGS BY LEWIS R. WHITE. 



TRUTH AND HONOR. 



Truth and honor are two bright stars. 

That ever pierce through the darkest gloom, 

Whose rays ever shine near and far 
That cannot be hidden in the tomb. 

They outshine all other lights 

Which years of time can never dim, 
Revealing the wrong and maintaining the right. 

Showing forth crimes hidden within. 

Bold standards in many a place, 

Before which criminals bow with shame, 

Who cannot stand the degrading pace, 
That seems to hold them like a chain. 

On which the laws of God are founded, 

Upheld by all true mankind, 
In which we soul and body should be surrounded. 

That in our hearts should entwine. 

Which cannot be hidden by age or form, 

No matter how homely, bent or old. 
For his life's chart shows he has breasted the storm, 

Through burning heat or piercing cold. 

Truth and honor are giants of might, 

There are no other stars can take their place. 

For the world is beheld by their light. 

What should be the heart's core of every face. 

Before which all other powers kneel 

A true conqueror in all nations, 
On the raging sea or battlefield. 

Regardless of color, kin or relation. 

116 



TAKE TIME BY THE FORETOP. 



TAKE TIME BY THE FORETOP. 



Take time by the foretop, 

Be resolute in all you undertake, 

Never say, I cannot, then stop, 
Be serious, and wide awake. 

Improve the moments, as they pass. 
Keeping time with the hammer's clip, 

For it means wealth and muscle strong 
A golden burden for prosperity's ship. 

Never yield to whims or whiffling minds, 
And when the years have passed swiftly by 

You will look back, and smile sometimes 
Glad that in time, you kept a watchful eye. 

Never get discouraged, and lose your grip. 
Growing faint and weak of heart 

For some good chance may some time slip 
That would have given you a good start. 

Think not because your means are small 
That you will do nothing but wait 

Time will pass by and you will lose it all 
And you will repent because it is too late. 

Do not wait till you are old, 

And let your best days pass. 
For moments of youth are sands of gold. 

Only once before you cast. 



117 



POEMS AND SONGS BY LEWIS R. WHITE. 



THE ENSIGN. 



Conceived from within 

New and precious bird, 
For whom heroes fell for, by the sword 

Who saw the prey 

Upon the day 
When independence was the word. 

He with outstretched wings 

And fierce battle cry 
Did the stars and stripes unfurl 

When widely spread , 

What he had said 
And prove it before the world. 

Oh, origin of the wilds 

Whose piercing eyes beheld 
The fierce struggle over land and sea 

Yet as they bled 

And prayers said 
For freedom's glory that was to be. 

That was tjie time 

When all who fell 
Died that we might live and love, 

To proudly proclaim 

Freedom's holy name, 
While o'er all the ensign looks from above. 

Forevermore to remain 

A sacred emblem of the free. 
Our homes and rights proudly to proclaim, 

To whose bugle call 

Means one and all 
Loves to answer to the eagle bird of fame. 



118 



THE ENSIGN. 

Whose broad pinions cover all 

From north and south, from shore to shore, 
A nation of all nations freely trod 

Whose laws are a part 

Of every true heart 
And whose ruler over all is God. 



LITTLE ELVER. 



It was in the gray dawn of morning 

That the sun's raidiant flame 
Lit hill and valley without warning 

As she quickly on her circuit came. 

Cheered by the song of birds without number 

Driving the sparkling dew-drop from the rose 
While many that soundly slumbered 
Gently awoke and donned their clothes. 

One was little golden-haired Elver who arose 
Bright and early in this same morn 

With face aglow from her repose, 

Who rode the horse, to cultivate the corn. 

She like some fairy tale of long ago 
As she sat neatly perched on her steed, 

Going back and forth through each row 
The cultivator tearing out the weeds. 

With a happy smile upon her face 
As she rode, gaily chattering on, 

Guiding her steed with their grace 
Through the long rows of corn. 



119 



POEMS AND SONGS BY LEWIS R. WHITE, 

Oh, sweet memory, I never shall forget 
Earth robed in green with sunshine laden 

Added beauty to the sun brighter and brighter yet, 
Little Elver the golden haired maiden, 

A sad reminder in my heart closer set 

Of a father's love story yet untold, 
I try to banish it, and yet, and yet 

It seems to haunt me as of old. 

That smiling face and golden head, 

Whose only portrait is engraved upon my soul 
Now sleeping beneath a green coverlet o'erspread 
Within its close enfold. 



THE EMBLEM OF LOVE. 



Oh roses, roses, sweetest, fairest, best, 

"Who in her disclosure finds 

In the wind a congenial soothing rest, 

And the cooHng shadows intervene. 

When alas, no more are seen 

Her gorgeous flaming sheen. 

For she sleeps, she sleeps. 

The emblem of love sleeps. 

Roses, roses, in mossy bed. 
Whose untarnished petals are tightly closed 
With sparkling dewdrops coverlets spread 
Of which the rising eastern ball ignores. 
She unfolds and shakes the dew from o'er 
Her drowsy head. As the sun shines once more 
She awakes, she awakes. 
The emblem of love awakes. 



120 



THE EMBLEM OF LOVE. 

O roses, roses, with blushes spread. 
Sending forth a fragrant sweet perfume, 
Reviving the weary heart when misled 
By shadows woven in between 
The daylight and the unseen ; 
A day to brighten with beauty serene — 
Then she dies, she dies, 
The emblem of love dies. 

Oh roses, roses, whose ripened petals fell, 
And by the winged winds wafted away 
To where no one can ever tell. 
In the evening-tide when the stars are few 
Whose short lustrous life was sweet and true, 
Where now is but a barren bed where she grew, 
For she is no more, she is no more. 
The emblem of love is no more. 



SWEET MEMORIES. 



In a sweet chamber of my heart, 

Where memories' jewels are stored away 
Many their sweetness, and imparts 

Sweet treasures hidden away 
Yet among the many, one sweeter than the rest 

That nearer to me clings 
A mother's love. 
Far dearer than the rest, 

A sweeter memory brings. 



121 



POEMS AND SONGS BY LEWIS R. WHITE. 

It was gathered in my childhood 

And carefully secreted away, 
When in rambling days of wildwood 

Have often thought of what she was to me, 
And so among my jewels this one brighter shines 

Nearer by far than the rest, 
A mother's love. 
That around my heart entwines 

A sweet memory the best. 

She it was who watched o'er me 

When helpless sickness laid me by 
Her hand it was that restored me 

Night and day with ever watchful eye, 
Nothing on earth can ere erase it, 

Days forever cast in boyhood's heart 
A mother's love. 
Only death can misplace it 

Aught is dearer than thou art. 

Ah, memory, thou hast a golden store, 

Gifts of sunny days gone by. 
Boyhoods cherished jewels as of yore, 

Many bright and gilded tie 
Yet the dearest one within my breast 

The one of early boyhood days, 
A mother's love. 
That will stand a lifetime test 

One that is worthy of praise. 



122 



SWEET MEMORIES. 

It is oft now in manhood's days, 

O'er and o'er thee sweet memories swell, 
Always first and dear though long passed away, 

That appreciation causes tears to fall. 
Once but when a child to me taught 

A little prayer at my mother's knee, 
Now clearer to me brought, 

A mother's love. 
Her sweet voice as she whispered it to me 

"Now I lay me down to sleep, 

I pray the Lord my soul to keep." 



ON THE BRINK. 



It was on the brink of a deep river 
That a poor mother went one day 

And gazed intent without a shiver 
In its cool depths longed to lay. 

That she might fall asleep, 

That sleep that knows no sorrow nor pain. 
She shed no tears, she did not weep. 

To me she need not the cause explain. 

For she lived just across the way 

And had a drunken husband and son. 

Also a crippled daughter as fair as day 
Who sufifered want on account of rum. 

They ofttimes came home together at night 

Full to the brim with that ardent store. 
Crazed with rum, and in a mad plight 
She and the daughter beat and tore. 

She ofttimes with them anxiously pleaded 
When they were o'er their drunken passion, 

And each time they promised what was needed 
And that they would behave in better fashion. 



123 



POEMS AND SONGS BY LEWIS R. WHITE. 

And so for a while in hope she waited 
That the happy change soon would come, 

That they and rum would be separated, 

But alas, instead of temperance came more rum. 

She at last discouraged and sick at heart 
Longing for peace, quiet, comfort and rest 

Made up her mind to play the suicide's part 
Which to her despondent mind seemed best. 

And so at last she stood upon that brink 

With scanty wrap closely around her twined ; 

She at her last step was caused to think 
Of the little cripple left behind. 

And so it was thus she was saved 
From a self murderess' watery grave 

And with new resolutions homeward set, 
To protect her child, and bear her sad lot. 



YEARNING HEART. 



Ah, yearning ever restless heart, 
Why dost thou in anguish sigh? 

Naught can fill that vacant part 
Or stop the sadness of the eye. 

That seems to look beyond, 
Into the impenetrable gloom. 

Despairing for something gone 

That is out of reach beyond the tomb. 



124 



YEARNING HEART. 



That mirrors itself back, 

Like chasing shadows traced 

The same dark clouds send back 

Impressions stamped upon the face. 

Leaving a hopeful, wistful stare, 
Like the setting sun drawing rain, 

Feebly shining there 

Washed out and left by constant pain. 

Barren, unwelcome ravines 

Where once bloomed red roses fair 
A barren stock is all it seems 

Blighted by the cold frosty air. 

Why that heaving, repeated sigh 
Bringing forth gushing tears 

Like a bursting fountain running dry, 
Leaving a warning trace of years? 

Like the ocean swells, tempest tossed 
Where breakers in fury foam. 

By the hurricanes of fate and remorse 
That only life can atone. 

Heaving rollers following onward, 
Ever warning fresh mantles of foam, 

Fiercely thrashing a barren shore, 
Beating the sands into comb. 

At last exhausted in furious blast 
Dies away with an agonizing wail, 

Like some lost spirit cast away 
In a wilderness or barren vale. 



125 



POEMS AND SONGS BY LEWIS R. WHITE. 

Where the echoes are heard no more, 
Leaving a dark shadowy memory here, 

Whose wearisome journey is o'er 
Lies down to rest free from fear. 

The yearning heart is at rest 
No more to sorrow and weep, 

For it has gone to the house of the blest, 
To sleep that long peaceful sleep. 

That shall be as a night when past 
Whose yearnings are fulfilled 

All is joy and peace at last. 
The yearning heart is still. 



THE TORCH OR SPIRIT. 



When youth's transparent ambitions 

Go forth in upward flight, 

Then the world is new and full of light. 

Unseen, unknown charms of bliss 

Soon to fade away into nothingness, 

Like the torchlights first kindled flame 

Brightly flaring here and there, never the same, 

Until time ripens into a steady heat 

Changing the sweet into bitter sweet. 

Then manhood calmly stops to meditate 

Over the ins and outs of life's constant turmoil 

Of many ways and trades of toil. 

The ways by which he can make the largest gains 

In the working of his hands and brains, 

Until the torchlight lights' steady glare 

Is filled with a dull and muddled air. 

When youth forgotten and manhood's bloom 

Has budded and ripened all too soon. 



126 



THE TORCH OR SPIRIT. 

Into old age experienced lessons learned 
Where there is no going back to correct mistakes, 
Or to fulfil false promises or mend bad breaks, 
For the past is an example that is laid away 
While the one to be made out is the one of today, 
While the torch is burning low in the cup, 
All ready for some faint breeze to swallow up 
Leaving but a darkened space 
Where a new torch must take its place. 



ESOP'S FABLE. 



Old Esop had a hen 

Who laid a golden egg. 
Each day he found one in her pen 

Of which he money made. 

Each day adding to his store 
That pleased him very much. 

Not content he wanted more, 
Selfish greed made him such. 

Says he, "one egg is too slow for me. 
Of this gold I must have a faster pull. 

One way I am sure as sure can be 

For I know that she must be solid full. 

So her I will kill and get it all, 
And then I will be rich enough, 

For one each day is far too small, 
I am in a hurry for the stuff." 



127 



POEMS AND SONGS BY LEWIS R. WHITE. 

So he killed the hen 

That laid the egg of gold, 
Finding naught but an empty pen, 

That his greed had been badly sold. 

He not content with prosperous growth, 
Although it may have seemed small, 

In trying to get more lost both, 
The way with many who fall. 

So be content with what you have got. 
Although gained by honest toil. 

For many a hero fame has gained. 

By honest sweat, 

And patience without spoil. 



EVENING TWILIGHT. 



How beautiful are the shades of twilight 

And the evening's purple glow 
"When through the clouds gleam the starlight 

And over the landscape shadows throw. 

When the sun is slowly dropping. 

And all nature sinks in repose, 
Busy hands their labor dropping 

Are glad the day has come to a close. 

When o'er the landscape shadows flicker. 
And the full moon rises o'er the crest, 

Beasts and birds returning homeward quicker 
In quiet safety to sleep and rest. 



128 



EVENING TWILIGHT. 

And as the cooling dews of evening 

Spreading her silvery spray among the flowers. 

On all foliage bright gems leaving 

And in sadness try crowning flowers. 

"Where blows the cooling, silent breeze, 

Fanning away the sun's hot breeze, 
Rocking gently the leaves of the trees, 

Shaking dust from grass where cattle graze. 

And charming is the stillness. 

Disturbed only by the brook's gentle murmur 
As she flows through field and meadow 

All the long gladsome days of summer. 

The bright little stars as they fall 

Sending forth their shooting light. 
Seem to whisper one and all 

Blessed are the shades of twilight. 

Blessed are the shades of twilight 

That to all bring peace and rest, 
While in the blue tent of heaven at night 

Brightly gleaming o'er the earth's rugged breast. 

In the evening calm and still, 

Are constant watchers, moonlight and starlight. 
While loudly sings the night hawk and whip-poor-will^ 

As aloft they soar with joyous flight. 

We as in a fairy-land of dreams. 

Wearing diamonds with gorgeous settings. 

Or with loved ones holding hands, 
Evening twilight forgetting. 

Until the morning's early dawn 

When again comes forth the meteor of old. 

Waking us once more with a sleepy groan 
The duties of day to unfold. 



129 



POEMS AND SONGS BY LEWIS R. WHITE. 

And when they are all accomplished at last 
We are glad once more to see the setting sun, 

And the fleeting golden shadows cast 
Once again evening twilight cast. 



TRUE IS THE HEART. 



True is the heart unchanged by years, 
True is the heart that has no fears, 
Whose deep regrets, remorse and pain, 
Tells of aught but constant strain. 
Which time has stamped on outer form, 
Shadowed reflections' trying storm. 

True is the heart whose unselfish aim, 

From parts in honor of name, 

True is the heart who is constant but 

Sips from the honey sweet, 

True is the heart filled with light. 

That pierces the dark like stars at night. 

True is the heart that suffers loss. 
Bears her part though much it cost. 
True is the heart that smiles when sore. 
With sunshine planks bridged o'er. 
True is the heart whose every aim. 
Is to hide sorrow, sin and shame. 



130 



TRUE IS THE HEART, 

True is the heart that sacrifices all, 
Heeding not the cost, great or small, 
True is the heart that lights the way, 
Of the path where others go astray, 
True is the heart of heaven blessed, 
Sharing her bliss without selfishness. 

True is the heart of uprightness divine, 
That death unflinchingly entwine 
Around her own realms of love, 
Soaring upward towards the sky above, 
Where united shining lights all in one. 
Will far outshine the sun. 



FINE BIRDS. 



All fine birds 
Do not have fine feathers, 
But the coarse and fine 
Are mixed up together. 

There is the long and the short. 
The great and the small. 
The fat and lean, 
And that takes them all. 

They all have their places. 
And make for good ; 
Some are to kill pests 
Others are for food. 

Likewise each one of us 
Have a place to fill. 
We should try to do right, 
And do it well. 

131 



POEMS AND SONGS BY LEWIS R. WHITE. 



SUNSET SHADOWS. 



Ah, beautiful and magnificent sunset, 
With thy waves of purple, red and gold, 

That shine o'er mountain, valley, hill and dale, 
Thou art an ever shining meteor of old. 

Thou art like the winged winds. 

That penetrate the darkest aisle. 
And seem to whisper to all life, 

'Tis time to sleep and rest awhile. 

Thou paintest the hills and landscape o'er, 

Bringing forth their shades with radiance bright. 

Casting shadows o'er hills and meadows afar. 
That seem to glitter in the golden light. 

The dark rocky hills like shadows cast. 

Under the distant horizon of blue. 
While from rivers deep and bubbles sparkling waters, 

Like crystal drops of morning dew. 

And as thou sinkest away in the west, 

Thy crimson rays casting upon flower beds, 

Evening they bow before their glory. 

Closing their petals and bowing their heads. 

Oh, sunset casting thy last shadows of red, 

Like a big fire beyond yonder hill. 
All nature sinks in darkness and repose, 

As her last rays flicker out, all is still. 



132 



NIPPED IN THE BUD. 



NIPPED IN THE BUD. 



A flower springs from its earthlike tomb, 

Pure, bright and fair, 
To yield forth fragrant sweet perfumes, 

And leave her foliage there. 

To flourish amid life's thorny way. 

To shun the frosts and worms of earth, 

And thrive in that good old way, 
And leave a gladness for her birth. 

But ah, how sad is her lot, 

When yielding to some giddy plan. 

The downward road the devil's plot, 

For the drunken ways of sin will never stand. 

And the flowers once fair droop. 

Its petals look withered and dry. 
Gnawing at the roots it feels the evil worm creep 

And in early bloom the time comes to die. 

But ah, how sad the sight. 

And how dark the spell, 
A once fair life that is but a blight, 

A once pure soul to be sent to hell. 

To leave behind a vacant place, 

A dark and shameful gloom, 
A crimson stain of disgrace. 

That lives beyond the tomb. 



133 



POEMS AND SONGS BY LEWIS R. WHITE. 



PEACE IN DEATH 



Naught can cheer the heart that pines 

For that which it doth crave, 
And if its wants it never finds, 

Broken it hes silent in the ^rave. 
That low green tent. 

That so many highly style, 
And like a child whose grief is spent, 

Lies down to sleep with a smile. 



BE SQUARE. 



Be square in all of your dealings 
With your brother fellow men, 

And regard their interest and feeHng, 
Then you will never have an empty hand. 

Be square in all that you undertake, 
And be sure and mean what you say, 

Though in earnest and wide awake, 
You will find it always pays. 

Be square when you sell a thing, 
And tell them what they are buying. 

Then they will be sure and come again, 
For there is always losmg, lying. 

Be square when you agree to buy or take, 
And try to pay for it when due, 

Do not let it go then try to equivocate. 
For he is sure to find it out if you do. 



134 



BE SQUARE. 

Be square and honest, true and kind, 
As you journey on through life, 

And you will wealth and comfort find. 
Where others have but poverty and strife. 

Be square all the way through years, 

Until you are aged and old, 
Then you will be blessed with friends here. 

When life's days have all been told. 



A SAD HEART. 



My heart is sad today. 
As I look across the way. 
Seeing naught but a token, 
A memory never broken. 

For within the churchyard ground, 
Underneath a green mound, 
A little child sleeps, 
The loss of him I weep. 

With tearful eyes I dimly see. 
The way he pointed out to me. 
When from me he was taken, 
A bud to bloom in heaven. 

In my arms he fell asleep, 
With broken heart I wept. 
As I held his form alone, 
I knew his spirit had flown. 



135 



POEMS AND SONGS BY LEWIS R. WHITE. 

His last words I hear, 
For quickly they caught my ear, 
As he pointed his chubby hand, 
Yonder to that heavenly land. 

I listened with much care. 
As he said, "See, papa, see up there." 
His golden head sank on my breast, 
My idol, dearest, and best. 

I laid away his chubby form, 
For his sweet spirit had gone 
With the angels he pointed out to me, 
Which some day I too should see. 

Even now it is getting late, 
And I have not long to wait 
Before I again him will see. 
With angels waiting for me. 



WHEN TRUE LOVE DIES. 



Not until the ocean ceases to flow. 
And the mountains crumbling fall below, 
When gold and diamonds are of little worth. 
And the stars come down to kiss the earth, 
And the waters reverse, run the opposite way. 
When springs and rivers cease to flow. 
And stone and iron in dust crumbled lay. 
When all human hearts peacefully sleep below. 



136 



WHEN TRUE LOVE DIES. 

When the morning sun ceases to rise, 
And the moon forsakes the skies, 
And all the moving clouds of heaven. 
Are in one compact nothingness driven, 
When the birds and beasts one and all, 
That have their being flourished and grow, 
As were in the beginning not at all, 
Will true love cease to flow. 

Not until flames shall fall, 

And wax this earthly globe into a scrawl. 

When the works of man shall be erased, 

And a new heaven and earth shall take its place 

And God shall o'er it forever reign. 

Where true love ever flows without pain. 

In a paradise built by God, 

Where none but the holy ever trod, 

In the new Jerusalem from heaven sent down. 

Where naught but true love will ere be found. 



MEMORY. 



It is well I do remember. 

In the days of long ago. 
That we started life together. 

And we loved each other so. 

Arm in arm together, 
When the stars glittered, 

While the birds sang to each other. 
Their sweet songs of love. 



137 



POEMS AND SONGS BY LEWIS R. WHITE, 

Her eyes looking into mine, 

They were like the sky's dark blue, 
She to me sweet, almost divine. 

And I promised to be true. 

How happy I was on our wedding day, 
When I took my bride home. 

But now she has passed away. 
And I am left here to mourn. 



JOYOUS WINTER. 



When cold blows the autumn winds. 

And loud the hurricane's roar, 
Then Jack Frost his work begins. 
And the sea waves lash the shore. 

Then o'er the fields fall the snow. 

And through the forest wild, 
Scaring the rabbits as they blow. 

The branches with snowflakes piled. 

Then with drooping boughs stands the pine. 
The spruce, the fir, and hemlock, 

Then all birds seek a warmer clime, 

The robin, bluebird, sparrow, and henhawk. 

Then the ground-hog seeks his hole, 
The woodchuck and the field mouse. 

There to sleep through the winter's cold. 
Snug within their earthly house. 



138 



JOYOUS WINTER. 

While in a cottage on yonder height, 

There are faces all aglow, 
And eyes ever shining bright, 

Who love to see the falling snow. 

They are waiting with skates and sled, 
Whose anxious hearts with joy thrills, 

When in early dawn rising from bed. 
They merrily go sliding down the hills. 



FISHING. 

We are all fishing. 
Some fish for one thing. 
And some fish for another, 
And the sharpers are a-fishing, 
To get a lap on each other. 
Some fish for money. 
And some fish for fame. 
While others fish for nothing 
And get it just the same. 

So we are all a-fishing. 
Some fish for peace 
And some fish for strife, 
While others are always fishing 
To get the other man's wife. 
Some fish for high positions, 
While others fish for low, 
And some fish for all. 
Simply catch nothing, 
Don't you know. 



139 



POEMS AND SONGS BY LEWIS R. WHITE. 

So we are a-fishing-, 

Some fish in automobiles, 

And some for horses fast, 

While others fish for houses and lands, 

That cuts the stoutest grass. 

Some fish to get into trouble, 

And some for solid facts, 

And as a general rule they catch it. 

Where the chicken caught the axe. 

So we are all a-fishing, 
Some fish for halibut, 
While others fish for whales, 
And some fish for long neckers, 
That come in wooden pails. 
Some fish to do wrong, 
And some to make the biggest fight, 
And they always get the hook. 
And are yanked out of sight. 



PLEASURE AND SORROW. 



Pleasure, like vapory mists, quickly pass, 
Rays of sunshine too sweet to last. 
Passing vanities that fleet o'er the mind. 
Like gusts of wind in summer time, 
Rolling swells of laughless motion. 

First rolling high, then still and calm, 
Like the restless, dark blue ocean. 

Swells that seldom do much harm. 



140 



PLEASURE AND SORROW. 

Swells that seldom do much harm, 
That are quickly lulled by grief's arm, 
Quick and fondly to be embraced, 
And just as quickly to be misplaced, 
Like showers of rain that earthly fall. 

Whose clouds hide all rain from sight, 
Instead drops of grief often fall. 

Turning bright day into darkness of night. 

Turning bright day into darkness of night. 
Then like clouds of mist passing from sight, 
Dark shadows sharing sunshine, 
In the fleeting days of summer time. 
Ever passing on, and yet remain 

Mixtures both of joy and grief, 
Songs of love, then cries of pain, 

The sun to shine, then lose with relief. 



AND YET AND YET. 



As alone in my cottage I sit. 
Thinking of those dear to me, 

That have gone away and yet and yet, 
Those I long much to see. 

Although their going selfishly I regret. 
Because I loved them so dear, 

And ever miss them and yet and yet, 
I should not wish them with me here. 



141 



POEMS AND SONGS BY LEWIS R. WHITE. 

For in my heart their types are set, 

In sorrow, love and pain, 
To those I would go, and yet and yet, 

Here a little while I must remain. 

I know I shall rejoice when we have met. 

And shall ever more happy be, 
I must go to them, and yet and yet, 

I ofttimes wish they were here with me. 

When the shades of night appear at the sunset, 

Then I shall start on my way, 
To where my loved ones are, and yet and yet, 

It is noon, and I must wait till the close of day. 



SEASONS OF THE YEAR. 



Youth is like the early spring, 
When the buds bloom, and the birds sing. 
Springing forth by heaven blessed, 
To fill their missions, thrive and grow. 
To enjoy earth's blessings here below, 
As they choose the poorest or the best. 

Manhood is like the summer time, 
Whose growing fruits yield in rhyme, 
As forth each fleeting day calls, 
Missions in life's pathway here to fill. 
According to each man's mind and will. 
Whose yielding forth the season's call. 



142 



SEASONS OF THE YEAR. 

Old age is like the early fall, 

Whose bended limbs the seasons' call, 

With foliage opened white as snow, 

Who have yielded forth life's fruit in time, 

Shining ever when left behind, 

When their ripened stalks fall below. 



THE FLIRT. 



Flirts ways are the ways of sin, 
Ofttimes in them troubles begin. 
That really amounts to naught, 
But foolish passing thought, 
Expressmg beauty of mind 
Mostly done by women-kind. 

Those that cannot see through the mist, 
Are ofttimes misled by such as this. 
Taking them as reflections of the soul 
And not as blanks from hearts cold 
Meaning not what they mean to say 
Only to be admired or led astray. 

Imitation loves deep passion. 

Or regard for others of passion 

To be noticed or to attract attention, 

That they may be spoken of, or their names mentioned, 

Or brought in contact with some scheme, 

To which the fly does not dream. 



143 



POEMS AND SONGS BY LEWIS R. WHITE, 

Or in other ways to the reverse, 
They are going from bad to worse, 
Light-headed with disregarded mind, 
Springing forth from mankind 
The fruits of vanity and nothing less. 
Often sweetened with jealousness. 

At last whose end is misery and woe, 
Sinking them soul and body down below, 
And whose names are never spoken. 
And o'er their resting-place not a token, 
Like their seeds through life planted, 
The end hath enchanted. 



IMPROVING THE HOURS. 



How sweet are the shades of eve, 

When our days' work is done. 
And we can sit beneath a shady lea. 

In the cool, out of the scorching sun. 

And know that another day's work is o'er, 
And that it has been well spent, 

In laying by for our winter's store. 
Things for our wants and contents. 

And that like the squirrel and the bee, 
Among the trees and the flowers. 

That gather nuts and sweet honey, 
For cold winter's stormy hours. 



144 



IMPROVING THE HOURS. 

Who like us watches the sun's dying flame. 
As it slowly sinks away in the west, 

Adding to the store one more day's gain, 
For their comfort the choicest and best. 

So let us improve life's golden hours, 

Our wants and wishes to sustain, 
And we leave behind us these records of ours, 

Shining ever more to remain. 



BE THOUGHTFUL. 



Why not be thoughtful in all you undertake. 
True and honest and to business wide awake, 
Never start by hearsays or guess, 
But stop and carefully think, 
Be sure to solve out every kink. 
Then you will know what is best. 

Then you will know what is best, 
And how in safety you may insist, 
A smaller amount to larger grow, 
Without danger or fail or loss, 
In perfect safety and less cost. 
This is the wise man's plan, you know. 

This is the wise man's plan, you know, 
To move careful, safe and slow. 
That he may his wants safely maintain, 
With true honest zeal, 
Benefiting others and himself, 
A rich and honest gain. 



14.5 



POEMS AND SONGS BY LEWIS R. WHITE. 

A rich and honest gain, 
By being thoughtful he has obtained, 
While those that strike here and there. 
Without thought or regard, 
Generally lose and work twice as hard, 
And have but little anywhere. 

And have but little anywhere, 
Because they have not a thoughtful care, 
And rush blindly into this and that, 
Ofttimes meeting sad defeat. 
Because they have lost or got beat. 
Then blaming luck for having missed. 



THE SUN. ' 

Rise, morning sun, rise, 

And drive away the night. 
Shine into these sleepy eyes, 

That they may behold the sight. 

Of thy golden radiant gleam. 

That has awaked us from repose. 
Ending all of our morning dreams. 

And driving the dew-drops from the rose. 

Grand is thy matchless shroud, 

That with these dim eyes I see, 
Driving the darkness and clouds, 

Causing birds to sing with glee. 

I with aspiration behold thy splendor. 
Through the seeming blue canvas sailing, 

And toward the king of lights my heart grows tender, 
O'er my selfish thoughts prevailing. 



146 



MR. LISTEN AND MR. BLOWHARD. 



MR. LISTEN AND MR. BLOWHARD. 



One day there came my way, 

An old neighbor into my front yard, 
I unto him did say as he came my way, 

"Good morning, Mr. Blowhard." 

Howdy, Mr. Listen, well I would like to talk a spell, 

About folks of these latter days, 
That are smart and quick and full of fun, 

Who can run a long ways. 

And them that's tall and full of stuff, 

Who three times out of four, 
When in a clinch find it no cinch, 

To be thrown upon the floor. 

And them that are strong", working eight hours a day, 
Who earn their wages so honest and dear, 

Also how hard they strive from eight till five. 

Who only have two weeks' vacation twice a year. 

And how poor they live, as thin as a sieve. 

On their small hard-earned pay, 
When they work and do not shirk. 

Get from two to ten a day. 

And everything they buy is so high, 

Lamb, chicken, turkey and goose, 
And sirloin steak is a regular fake, 

They have got to starve, it is no use. 

They that work must have clothes to wear, 

Broadcloth with seams neatly pressed. 
Also starched shirts and silken ties, 

And a gold watch hanging to his vest. 



147 



POEMS AND SONGS BY LEWIS R. WHITE. 

In his leisure he must have a Httle pleasure, 

In taking in moving^ pictures, circuses and shows, 

Plays of fame, horse races and ball games. 
With a box of cigarettes under his nose. 

You may without regret think I am a little hard. 
But I just want to show you the different ways, 

Of many now dead and gone and them now born, 
I mean between the past and the latter days. 

In the first place to begin the case, 

When I was a boy, you know, 
We had no vacation at all from spring till fall. 

Nor through the winter's drifting snow. 

Then they would say that twelve hours was a day, 

Say nothing of doing the chores. 
It was from sunlight till moonlight, 

They worked whether the sun shone or the rain 
poured. 

The good old ways then when hiring men 

Was rather by the month or year. 
It was get right around for eight all found, 

And they would find you don't you fear. 

Talk about having to buy things that were high. 
Why they did not buy anything at all. 

They lived the year around from corn ground, 
That they carried to mill in the fall. 

From flax that grew they made their clothes. 
And sheeps wool woven in an old fashioned loom 

They did not fit so snug that they could not spit. 
But in them there was plenty of room. 



148 



MR. LISTEN AND MR. BLOWHARD. 

Then you did not look rude dressed like a dude, 
In boiled shirts, collars and neckties, too, 

The boys and girls alike from morn till night, 
Wore the same thing right through. 

When you come to leisure, work was a pleasure, 
Moving pictures and shows were cut out. 

In those days they did not have rattled men, 
That did not know what they were about. 

The young men now that are tough and full of stuff, 

Are not like the young men of old, 
For it is cigarettes tuff and druggist stuff. 

That is why they die young and look old." 

Now Mr. Listen I know. 

If he looks o'er the history of long ago. 
Will find assurance there with the present to compare, 

With as large an interest and as true a heart. 



BLEST PEACE. 



Blest are the makers of peace. 
Whose desires are to save and please, 
With fellow man in Hfe began. 
From morn till the setting sun. 
Through all their acts run. 

Blest is the home of quiet. 

With neither contentions or riot. 

Where laughter abounds and music sounds, 

From voices low and sweet. 

That makes this earthly life complete. 



149 



POEMS AND SONGS BY LEWIS R. WHITE. 

Blest are the fruits peace brings, 
Cooling droughts from crystal springs, 
So eagerly tipped to famishing lips. 
That aught but love brings. 
Besought by both beggar and kings. 

No heroes can ere bestow. 

That will outshine its reviving flow, 

In exchange fill its part or quiet the heart. 

No more joy or comfort brings, 

Or more invitingly closer clings. 

Its joy like dew-drops distills, 
And our souls with rapture thrills. 
To us never tiring but oft enterprising. 
Sent to man from heaven. 



A TROUBLED SLEEPER. 



As I lay, not soundly sleeping, 
I dreamed that I heard a creeping, 
Creeping, creeping, gently creeping, 
Creeping on my chamber floor. 
Thought I, it is only the breeze 
Blowing the leaves from tree s 
Only this and nothing more. 

Again I dreamed I heard a purring, 
A steady constant purring, 
Purring, purring, a drolling purring 
Like someone sawing through the floor, 
Thought I, it is only the bed a-cracking, 
That my tired nerves are racking, 
Only this and nothing more. 



150 



A TROUBLED SLEEPER, 

Again as T dozed in slumber, 

I dreamed that I heard a scratching, 

Like someone the door unlatching, 

Scratching, scratching, at my chamber door, 

Thought T, it is a creaking shutter. 

That the wind has caused to flutter, 

Only this and nothing more. 

Again as I sank away to dozing, 
I dreamed that I heard a clashing, 
Like some one glass a-smashing, 
Smashing, smashing, quickly smashing, 
Smashing square upon the floor. 
And as I partly awoke to reason, 
I thought I was dreaming of treason. 
Only this and nothing more. 

And as I tossed in restless motion, 

I dreamed that I heard a yawling. 

Like ten thousand bugles calling. 

Calling, calling, shrilly calling. 

Calling for me o'er and o'er. 

And as I awoke two arms changing places. 

Among brushes, combs and vases, 

I beheld a tomcat, nothing more. 



THE BLIND KNOT OR TIE. 



There are many knots or ties, 
Used on land and ships at sea, 

But there is one that in my thoughts arise 
That is new to some, but not to me. 



151 



POEMS AND SONGS BY LEWIS R. WHITE. 

Is it the wall knot that is overlaid, 

Or the wall knot crowned, 
Or the man-rope knot innerlaid, 
Like a ball so hard and round? 

Is it the single morfer stopper interwoven, 

Or the double morfer stopper so close and true, 

Or the four standard Turks' heads round and oval, 
Made of one whole strand braided too? 

Is it the shank painters unyielding hitch 

Or the spar slings tightening bite, 
Or the lanyards knots' gigantic hitch, 

Through the dead eyes woven tight? 

Is it the single boland that never slips, 

Or the fisherman's bend so safe and easy to untie, 

Or the running" boland that never sticks. 
Knots on which you can rely. 

Is it the sheeps shanks shortened length, 

Or the stunicel boom bend, 
Or the rattlings tried strength, 

With the strain of heft and wind? 

Ah, it is none of those that I have mentioned, 

And would not be if as many more. 
It is the tie of love to which I will draw your attention, 

Used on land and on shore. 

Ofttimes two ships with this blend tie. 

Spliced or lashed together, 
Go down beneath the dark briny waters. 

To rise again, no, no never. 



152 



BEAUTIFUL SLEEPER. 



BEAUTIFUL SLEEPER. 



Sleep on, thou beautiful sleeper, 
Sleep on, and take thy rest, 
For thou art most divinely fair. 
Fairest of the fair, one of the best 
Whose face like the glow of the sunset 
Reflections cast ofif rose-tinted hue. 
From whence aught but wisdom shone, 
None ever were fairer than you. 

But ah, how short a day's time. 
How quickly ends that measured span 
That leaves behind on fevered brow 
The noonday's sun too severe to stand. 
How soon the cooling shades of evening, 
Cooling shadows from heaven sent, 
Lulling thy throbbing breast to sleep. 
Dreamless sleep, beneath earth's green tent. 

Whose curtains never outward swing, 

Where ages like records pass thee there, 

O'er which the cricket chirps and sober sings, 

Sweet melodies of earth and air. 

Their sweet enchantment hearing naught no more, 

Nor the winged wings sigh or bitter moan. 

For thou art a messenger to the golden shore 

Leaving behind thy earthly throne. 

Where not a token marks the spot. 

Only one soft grassy mound 

Ey me never, no never to be forgot. 

Where vines and flowers in wealth surrounds, 

Oft changes for a robe of snowy white. 

Whose pure reflection mutes the sun. 

There watched by moon and stars at night, 

T e ever remembered sweet sleeping one. 



153 



POEMS AND SONGS BY LEWIS R. WHITE. 

Sleep undisturbed, sweet sleeper, 

Thou sleepeth till the morning trumpet call. 

Where heroes and friends pass and weep, 

Where flowers grow and teardrops fall 

Like morning dew upon the grass, 

None ever forgotten who in Christ fall asleep. 

That through the dark shadows pass, 

Where the rich rejoice and the wicked weep. 

Me-thinks I hear thy silvery voice yet. 

Whose sweet vibrating notes my heart controls, 

Leaves unfailing, music cheering, in time of regret. 

Smiles through tears balm for the soul. 

I stop and in deep thought meditate 

O'er the one sleeping beneath that low green tent, 

That through the cross saved from sin's fate 

From earth to heaven sent. 



BEAUTY. 

Beauty is like a flower 
Which shines in its hour, 
When the evening comes on, 
Her petals are fallen. 
Her once fair beauty is gone. 

Like the setting sun. 
Its red and golden flames 
Mingle into one. 
Surely and quickly cast. 
But ah ; too sweet to last. 



154 



BEAUTY. 

And yet how vain, 

Often changes through pain, 

Till aught but a withered stalk 

Stands leafless and bare, 

No sweet perfume or foHage there. 

Only a story worn and old, 

Too commonly seen, too often told. 

Like reflections by others chased, 

A sunny ray painted by chance. 

Once upon a care-worn wrinkled face. 

Then when unseen was sought. 

But now is passed forgot. 

Not a shadow, not a trace. 

Not even a picture to tell, 

Of a once fair beauty known so well. 



TOO LATE. 



It was when the sun's golden light 

Sank away behind the landscape, 
That I with hurried footsteps light. 

The wooded pathway sought too late. 

The sun's last red light shone o'er the way. 
Through woodbines and tree-tops straight, 

While the night-hawk sang in his mournful way, 
You have tarried too long and are too late. 

I saw as I walked on with quickened pace, 

Each little bird calling its mate. 
Seemed to say as the sun sank away in space, 

"Hurry, hurry on, you are too late." 



155 



POEMS AND SONGS BY LEWIS R. WHITE. 

And my green mossy pathway by fireflies light, 
I looked here and there and ahead straight, 

Was I afraid or had I lost my wit? 
No, it was this, I am too late. 

Ah, what is that I see in the skies, 

That ball shining in earth so straight. 
And little stars twinkling before my eyes? 

As I looked I thought, am I too late? 

I stopped, and with wonder and surprise, 

Looked o'er the moonlit flowery dell. 
And as I wiped the perspiration from my eyes, 

I thought, I am not too late, I know it well. 

Ah, what music is that I hear? 

And with joy seems to thrill my soul 
That sweet voice calm and clear 

That on the evening breezes swell. 

Again I looked and with joy beheld, 

A sweet smiling face coming straight. 
No language can express, no joy can tell, as I heard 

A sweet girlish voice say, "Just in time, not too late." 



JUDGING THE FRUIT TREES. 



In the garden where blooms the roses, 

On which the dew-drops and butterfly reposes, 

In rotation are trees planted there. 

Supposed to yield forth all kinds of fruit. 

Their places fill and the hungry suit, 

From commonplace to choice and rare. 



156 



JUDGING THE FRUIT TREES. 

Now if a stranger should step within, 

And by looks and appearance judging beam, 

He would smile upon the smooth and graceful grown, 

And frown upon the dwarf and crooked bent, 

And o'er their homely twisted limbs lament. 

But o'er the finer looking his expectations shine. 

During his judgments as he then passed, 
And after a thorough view the gardener asked, 
What manner of fruit those graceful branches bear. 
With straight trunks so sound and tall. 
You must reap a fine harvest every year, 
And admire them standing there. 

Why have you those homely ones mercy shown, 

And in this beauty spot been let alone, 

With their rough bark and ragged tops 

Why not rout them out into the fire. 

And replace them with better and higher, 

That will raise you a better and finer crop ? 

Ah, no, you have judged them wrong, my man, 
Those are the choicest in the land. 
They bear fruit that always pays. 
Whose flavors are delicious to the taste, 
And none can be found to take their place, 
Of such demand in so many ways. 

Now your reference to those standing there, 
That look so yielding, fine and fair. 
With oval bough, and sounded form. 
From whose branches no fruit ever fall. 
Only shade trees, but of little use at all, 
That would not be missed if they were gone. 



157 



POEMS AND SONGS CY LEWIS R. WHITE. 

Never judge by looks and appearance, 

But wait till you have had experience, 

Then you will better know, the truth to declare, 

For Time it is an unavailing- test, 

Yielding her fruits of good and bad, poorest and best, 

Proving them as they are everywhere. 



OLD DOG TRAY. 



Where is my playmate of long ago, 
Who used to run and frolic with me, 

O'er the woods and meadows to and fro. 
Constantly by my side would go. 

Where, oh where is old dog Tray, 

With his ever watchful eye, 
That got the cows each ending day, 

And kept off the tramps when they went by. 

Ah, it is well I know when and where. 

That place of his repose, 
For with my own hands I put him there, 

Where now the green grass grows. 

And o'er his resting place we mow and reap. 
Where now my faithful friend lies, 

Reposing there in dreamless sleep, 
On the hillside's gradual rise. 

And o'er him flies the hen-hawk, crow and swan. 

The eagle, pigeon and turtle dove. 
Who like the dew-drops of early morn. 

Soar away to catch the food they love. 



158 



OLD DOG TRAY. 

He was ever faithful, true and kind, 

And did constantly watch, night and day, 

Wag-ging his bushy tail curled up behind, 
Ready for some frolicing play. 

Now that his once familiar body is still, 
And he is laid away in the earth to rot, 

There is no other dog his place can fill. 
And his name will never be forgot. 



THE REVIEW, OR COUNTER. 



I, when broken down at last, 
By years of work and strife, 

Review the time that is past. 
Trying to get sunshine from life. 

In looking o'er a barren field, 
That is like a desert's sand. 

From which nothing ever yields, 
Leaving an empty hand. 

And yet into my dull brain. 
There shines a ray of light, 

Like sunshine after a rain, 

Hope strengthening the failing sight. 

Experience like the bitter sweet, 

O'er my memory ever rolls. 
Clouds and sunshine mixed. 

That chases and then vexes the soul. 



159 



POEMS AND SONGS BY LEWIS R. WHITE. 

Gales and thoughtless laughter, 

Vapory mist before a storm, 
Followed by ruin and disaster, 

Leaving new experiences unborn. 

Into which I dimly see 

With these blurred, blind eyes. 

These lesson ever taught to me, 
Are elevations towards the prize. 

Seeming but a flickering spot, 
Ever going down like the sun. 

It shall not leave a record dark. 
Nor a lazy worthless one. 

I fearlessly cherish bright hopes, 

As I review the bitter past. 
That I may experience a wider scope, 

And my frail bark anchor at last. 

And leave behind a token, 

A record as from on high, 
When I am gone, often spoken, 

One that will never die. 

To prove this seeming worthless life, 
Nearly spent and little gained. 

Shall live beyond care and strife. 
Whose end is lasting fame. 



HAPPENINGS ON A FARM. 



The bull-frogs are toning up their fiddles. 
In the old mill pond under the hill, 

And from the marshes and the meadows. 
You hear the mosquito, filing his bill. 



160 



HAPPENINGS ON A FARM. 

From the kitchen, and the barn, 

Legions of humming sounds arise, 
While on the face, neck, and arms. 

Is plainly seen the works of hungry flies. 

From the hen-pen there comes a racket, 
As the rooster cries at break of dawn, 

For just over the straw-barrel on a bracket, 

A splendid biddy proclaims, "Another egg's born' 

In the yard the steers and cows are lowing, 
And just beyond the sheep are bleating. 

While the farmer hustling, fretting, stewing, 
For the fodder they should be eating. 

If farmers' sons and daughters thrive. 

And they with regard their partners choose, 

It is because they apples and cattle drive, 
And dodger down in their cow-hide shoes. 

In fall, murder geese and ducks who quack, 
Gleaning the summer's bountiful yield 

To overflowing, filling up the empty sacks 
With fat porkers who used to squeal. 

When the winter wind blows though the trees, 
And a white mantle conceals the lawn. 

They pop the corn, whene'er it pleases. 
Shake up the fire and put the kettle on. 

And fill full the box with hard birch wood. 

Load down the kitchen table. 
Then with an appetite just right for food. 

They go it while they're able. 



161 



POEMS AND SONGS BY LEWIS R. WHITE. 



MY COUNTRY HOME. 



My country home it is of thee, 

The place where I was born, 
With thy belts of forest trees 

And fields of yellow corn. 

With thy swift running brooks, 

And cool sparkling springs. 
And many other shady nooks, 

To which my memory clings. 

The green flowery meadows. 

That lie at the foot of the hill. 
O'er which twilight casts her shadow, 

In the evening, calm and still. 

And there is the old mill pond, 

That is fed by a rippling creek 
Where in boyhood's early dawn 

I fished the trout so thick. 

And there are her pastures higher, 
Where blackberry and ivy plum grow, 

With entangled mass of vine and briers, 

In picking I scratched and tore my clothes. 

And there are the old woodlots, too, 
Where Httle birds and partridges dwell, 

Many of them I shot, as they flew 
Through her green leafy dell. 

There is the rock maple grove, 

Alongside the forest wood. 
In their trunks we spiles drove. 

To get all the sweet sap we could. 



162 



« 



MY COUNTRY HOME. 

There to me is a dearer spot yet, 

The old house weather beaten o'er, 
Her lawn with flowers and birds yet, 

And woodbine twining- o'er the door. 

While behind upon the slope. 

The old apple orchard stood, 
There in her branches closely yoked. 

With ripened fruit deliciously good. 

And just across the highway, 

Stood the big cattle barn, 
Filled with corn, oats and hay, 

That were raised upon the farm. 

In which horses, cows and oxen stood, 

And sheep with fleece fine as silk. 
To furnish clothes, and use for food, 

Rich cream, butter and milk. 

It is well I remember early in the morn, 

I awoke with other faces all aglow. 
To eat a breakfast of sweet milk, and bread of corn. 

In boyhood days of long ago. 

But I like others far have roamed, 

O'er earth's rugged strand. 
Now look back upon the old home, 

In my dear old native land. 

Which will never be again, 

As it was in youthful days then. 
For faces once at the door and window pane, 

Long gone, I shall never see again. 

And yet love to my heart fondly clings, 
Bringing back from by-gone days of birth, 

Sweet memories to me rapture brings, 
Home, the dearest spot on earth. 



163 



POEMS AND SONGS BY LEWIS R. WHITE. 

Once in youth's ignorant days of bliss, 
His thoughtless unexperienced realm 

Who now with a sigh looks back upon this, 
His heart with regret and longing o'erwhelm. 



KEEP ON TRYING. 



If things are going wrong 

Keep on trying ; 
If you like others are not strong, 

Keep on trying ; 
Though the hill be hard to climb 
Do not spend your time in sighing, 
But pass on, gain a little at a time, 

Keep on trying. 

Though you miss, and miss again 

Keep on trying; 
And every time it seems in vain 

Keep on trying; 
Although others discouraged, and at you laugh 
Do not stop and give up in crying. 
But stick boldly to your craft, 

Keep on trying. 

If you are slow in getting along 

Keep on trying; 
And a hard wind is blowing strong, 

Keep on trying ; 
Do not shirk and backward slide 
Stop and lean upon your oar. 
Drifting with both wind and tide. 
But lay hold and pull for the shore ; 

Keep on trying. 



164 



KEEP ON TRYING. 

Though you fail time and time again, 

Keep on trying; 
Breast the breakers with every sail, 

Keep on trying; 
There are many of today, and years long ago, 
Who have had a harder task than yours, 
They by trying have conquered the foe, 
Their names are written forever more. 

Keep on trying. 

At first you try and do not succeed, 

Keep on trying ; 
Courage and ambition is all you need. 

Keep on trying; 
With some nearly a lifetime has passed 
Yet did not despair but kept on with expectation, 
And won their object at last; 
Trying has conquered nations ; 

Keep on trying. 



LIFE FEEDS UPON LIFE. 



The spider catches and feeds upon the fly, 
Th^ toad feeds upon the minge and moth, 

And the snake as it goes crawling by 
Catches and swallows them both. 

And the birds that soar the sky, 

As they fly in and out among the trees. 

Catch the millers, beetles and butterflies 
As they pass them in the breeze. 



165 



POEMS AND SONGS DY LEWIS R. WHITE. 

Wild beasts that inhabit the wood, 
Ofttimes feed upon the smaller ones, 

One seems to furnish the other food. 
Catching them as they swiftly run. 

And even the fish of the deep, 

That through many waters glide, 

Feed upon each other and insects that creep, 
Who cannot out-swim or safely hide. 

Man, too, is not exempted from the rule, 
For the stock that he raises on the farm 

And the fish that swim in the pool 
For food is dressed in many a barn. 

There are many other things I might recall, 
That transpire every day, in air and earth 

Unnoticed by man with talent small 

Law's foreordained from beginning of earth. 

Thus it seems all nature here below 
Multiply, yield and growth extend. 

Life feeding upon life as they go 

Like the waters rushing on to the end. 



SOWING SEEDS. 



From the seeds that we sow. 
We are sure a harvest to reap, 

Although we think they will not grow, 
They will be sure to peep. 



166 



SOWING SEEDS. 

Be sure the good to maintain, 
Separating them from the tares, 

For bad seed with good grain 

Will spoil all if together flourished there. 

So be careful in your choice 

And sow them on good rich soil, 

Where the ground is light and moist, 
That they may root and not spoil. 

Then when the harvest comes, 

Your field's with golden grain, 
Clean, well filled shooks to bind, 

No tares to give the reaper pain. 

You will bless the giver of the thought 
That guided you through strife, 

From good seed sown seven- fold brought 
Free from tares a golden harvest 
Eternal life. 



A MOTHER'S SWEET REFRAIN. 



I will sing a sweet refrain, 

My dear Saviour, 'tis of thee. 

That time and time again. 
Thy love hath guided me. 

A sweet refrain, full of power. 
That drives all rashness away. 

One that keeps me every hour 
From early dawn till close of day. 



167 



POEMS AND SONGS BY LEWIS R. WHITE. 

A sweet refrain, free from remorse, 

One that plainly shows the way 
That cheers in time of loss 

Of a darling one now gone away. 

A sweet refrain free from tear, 

That in place leaves a smile 
Of one so far now so near 

Only gone for a little while. 

A sweet refrain with love unfurled, 
Causing me upward to cast my eyes, 

Ofttimes thinking my darling girl 
Is watching me from the skies. 

A sweet refrain of joyousness, 

Of a bright angel in the heavenly land, 

Free from a world like this. 
Waiting with beckoning hand 

A sweet refrain to me the best, 

When I retire with the setting sun. 

Once more clasping her to my breast 
Together a new life just begun. 

Ever more to sing this refrain, 

The mighty love hath brought us together 
Never more to part again. 

Little Hattie and her mother. 



168 



THE SHADES OF NIGHT. 



THE SHADES OF NIGHT. 



It was when the sun was slowly setting, 
And the stars were hidden from sight, 

Then I ease in quiet forgetting, 

Watching the coming shades of night. 

O'er the western hills afar, 

Beyond the sun's golden light 
Then unseen gleamed a star, 

Awaiting the coming shades of night. 

In a leafy hedge close by. 

Sat a little songster, plain to write. 

He tired of singing and tired of flight, 

Seemed a-waiting for the shades of night. 

And as the sun's golden rays turned to red. 

And in the pool shining bright. 
Thee frog concealed in his slimy bed, 

Seemed waiting for the shades of night. 

And thus it seems that all mankind. 
And creatures both large and small, 

Rest, and peace, and liberty find, 
When the shades of night fall. 

When the shades of night fall. 

That takes the place of sun and heat, 

And men are through with their day's toil, 
In their cooling shades to rest and eat. 

When the shades of night fall. 

And man's last day is finished, complete, 

A recording time will he befall 
When through the shades of night 
He has rested in dreamless sleep. 



169 



POEMS AND SONGS BY LEWIS R. WHITE. 



REMINDING BELLS. 



Beautiful chiming" bells, 

Of school that youthful pleasure tells, 

The sounds that peel from their copper throats, 

Remind us of days gone by, 

Happy days for you and me. 

O'er which my memory gloats. 

Beautiful tinkling bells 

Of winter that of merry sleigh-rides tell, 

When clearly sending forth their tinkling sounds, 

On Christmas day not long ago. 

When the family circle met with faces all aglow. 

O'er which my heart seems to rebound. 

Constant ringing bells, 

Of shop and factory labor tells, 

That seem to call forth in demanding notes, 

Busy workers of every class. 

To improve the moments as they pass, 

Leaving no excuse for idle drones. 

Magnificent peeling church bells. 

Of rest, and joy, and gladness tells. 

Whose chiming sounds seem to re-echo o'er and o'er, 

Words of welcome joy and love. 

Hope on earth and in heaven above, 

Good-will to man forever more. 



« 



170 



JUST BE GLAD. 



JUST BE GLAD. 



Just be glad and wear a smile, 

It is always desirable and never out of style, 

It takes well on the street when others you meet, 

It is always welcoming and serene 

When understood, then the face look good 

With enlightened countenance, neat and clean. 

Just be glad, and of good cheer 

When others at you laugh and jeer, 

You not injured at all, they themselves look small 

For you have turned them down. 

They see the humorous wit and will ne'er forget 

A smile given for a frown. 

Just be glad and let it pass. 

When you are back-bitten and sauced, 

Soon they will see the blame and apologize with shame, 

And instead of hate they will love you all the while, 

They too, will on you smile. 

Just be glad in disappointment's hour, 

For after the rain better blooms the flower. 

You have nothing missed, for beyond is brighter bliss. 

It keeps you happy all the time, 

And others too, who gladden and cheer 

With radiant smile of sunshine. 

Just be glad when you are young, 

And in life have just begun. 

Just be glad all the while, sending forth a smile 

For you playmates when at school, 

For gladness is cheer and drives away wrath and fear 

And should be a golden rule. 



171 



POEMS AND SONGS BY LEWIS R. WHITE. 

Just be glad when you are old, 
And go smiling into the fold, 
And leave behind rays of sunshine, 
O'er which shadows cannot pass, 
On a spotless name without blame 
Reflections heavenward cast, 



FARMER MAGEE. 



Out in the country 
Lived old farmer Magee, 

Who works from morning till night 
Raising poultry and stock, 
Taking great pains with his flock, 

To make them grow all right. 

But he had a hard time 
To keep anything in line, 

As you soon will plainly see. 
First we will start in 
When beginning early in spring. 

The time the farmer begins. 

In the first place there are chores to do, 
And young pigs to put in pens, 

And colts that kick with glee ; 
Geese and ducks and hens who want to set, 
And all their wants have to be met. 

In order to make prosperity. 



172 



FARMER MAGEE. 

Sorting over seeds just for fun, 
And the butchering to be done, 

The butter and eggs to pack away. 
And the sheep to shear. 
Also the barn to clear, 

And chores to be done every day. 

The land to be tilled, 
Requiring strength and skill, 

In order to raise a crop, 
And rocks to be hauled 
To build the wall, 

And the year's wood to chop. 

The land has to be dressed 
And fixed the best. 

Before the seed is sowed ; 
And the fences to build, 
Also the haymow to fill. 

And all of the crop to be hoed. 

Then there are the fences to repair, 
And bushes to cut here and there, 

And taxes that have to be paid ; 
Then comes harvesting time, 
Crops that seem to ripen in rhyme 

To gather and under cover laid. 

Then comes all of the thrashing too, 
And the fall's plowing to do. 

Before the cold winter comes on ; 
When you hear sleigh bells ringing. 
And fingers and toes are tingHng 

That goes out in the cold storm. 



173 



POEMS AND SONGS BY LEWIS R. WHITE. 



BETHLEHEM'S STAR. 



Thou leader of the skies, 

Oh, radiant star of Bethlehem, 

Whose brightness sheds upon earth 
The first revelation to man. 

Banner of light ever unfurled, 
Their glories continually expand. 

King of the starry realm, 
Shining down on mortal man. 

From whose attractions there given 

Our minds to inspire, 
A gleaming heavenly meteor, 

Guide to a world up higher. 

Twinkle, twinkle, twinkling. 
Glorious unchanging dart. 

Far above the fleecy clouds, 
I wonder what thou art. 

Blest reminding token, 
Diamond set in ages past. 

O'er us ever reflecting. 

Piercing through shadows cast. 

Guiding comet of all, 

A leader of the wise, 
A never forgotten memorial 

King star of the skies. 

Amid the roll of ages past, 
That so quickly hath flown, 

They have never sought a change, 
Or altered thee on thy throne. 



174 



il 



BETHLEHEM S STAR. 

Though by some times unseen, 

Hidden by the sun's glare, 
Thou art unchanging in place, 

Eternally thou art there. 

Center attraction of God, 

Magnate of devotion, truth and love, 
Where aught but angels ever trod. 

In the blue heavens above. 

The same today as in early night 

When guiding wise men in days of old. 

Showing them the beginning of the light. 
The true pathway for the soul. 



NATURE'S BLESSINGS. 



There are many flowers of various hues, 
That unfold their buds to kiss the dews, 
Their shade to show and their petals to throw, 
In the bright morning sun. 
Nature's blessing every one, 
It is our duty to appreciate their beauty 
Which are given to us here, 
Our pathway to lighten and cheer. 

There are many birds that soar the air, 
Flying hither and thither everywhere. 
Merrily singing when on branches swinging. 
That eat and carry to their young in nests. 
Various kinds of plagues and pests. 
Of which they find blessings to mankind. 
They are there their part to do 
In brightening life for me and you. 



175 



POEMS AND SONGS BY LEWIS R. WHITE. 

There is the honey bee in his neatness, 

That from every open flower gathers sweetness. 

Nicely sealed within each cell, 

A luxury furnished by the busy bee, 

That all so dearly love called honey, 

A food so sweet for us all to eat. 

One blessing more so small and smart, 

And yet like the rest he does his part. 

There are many more that around us cling, 
Of which I might recall that names one thing, 
Blessings for us all great and small, 
For the rich and poor alike, 
Of which we do not appreciate as we might. 
Taking no heed from whence or where. 
As long as we enjoy, or find them there, 
Why not say so and think selfish heart. 
And bless God for these blessings set apart. 



THE GIRL AT THE FAIR. 



Oh, what is it that makes me feel so jolly. 

Then all at once so sand and melancholy, 

A vision of loveliness before me ever strolling, 

AH ny mental faculties controlling, 

I fully believe and do declare, 

It lust be the red-headed girl I met at the fair. 

S e w ih her fire-hair is so bewitching, 

1 d her cross-eyes kept winking and twitching. 
She is six leet two with swany neck so slender. 
Ml blotc'ed and freckled in beauty splendor, 
I know that must be what makes me laugh and sigh, 
When two tears are falling from two cross-eyes. 



176 



m 



THE GIRL AT THE FAIR. 

Oh, she is a peach with two teeth gone and a hatchet 

nose, 
And in the night her brilHants are hke the rose ; 
Everywhere she crooking small objects booking. 
And I cannot tell where she is looking, 
She laughs like the earthquake's deafening roar. 
And her mouth opens like the isthmus of Panama. 



She is a cracker- jack on rights when talking, 

And beats an Arabian camel at walking. 

And knows everybody's business far and near, 

And how this world should be run for you to hear, 

She is a darling, she is a daisy, everything but lazy, 

And over this charming girl I have gone crazy. 



THE GIANT. 



The giant may boast, when young, 
When experience to him has just begun, 

And the saps of life are new, 
Of vigor and strength, length and breadth, 

And unflinching courage too. 

Also in manhood's days, with strength known. 
Who hath to his weaker comrades shown, 

With proud smile and jeers cast, 
In lifting deal and twisting steel, 

And think his strength will always last. 



177 



POEMS AND SONGS BY LEWIS R. WHITE. 

And with undoubted courage in battle fight, 
Foeing bullets and shells in furious flight, 

And with sword conquer in the field, 
So with firm pace danger fearlessly face 

Be a conqueror in many a hard deal. 

But alas, how true the tale. 

The years and incidents sure to prevail, 

In making the hottest bloods calm and mild, 
Oft a feminine fake or unseen mistake 

Turns the giant back to the child. 



NEVER PUT OFF TILL TOMORROW. 



Never put ofif till tomorrow, 

What should be done today. 
For if you wait it may be too late. 

So do it while you may. 

Never put ofif till tomorrow, 

Lessons that you should learn, 

Tomorrow you will find you are one behind, 
So at once to your lessons turn. 

Never put off till tomorrow, 

Errands left to your care, 
For some one may be sick and need it quick, 

And be waiting for you there. 

Never put off till tomorrow, 

A task that looks hard, 
For a task quickly begun, is quicker done, 

On which others have regard. 



178 



I 



NEVER PUT OFF TILL TOMORROW. 

Never put off till tomorrow, 

An honest penny you can earn, 
For it is one penny more added to your store, 

And pennies make dollars you should learn. 

Never put off till tomorrow, 

Some good deed that you can do, 
Ofttimes one is known by the character shown, 

Which seems to be quite true. 

Thus if you do as I say. 

You will find that it will pay, 
And you will be in time and not behind, 

Prosperous and happy every day. 



THE OLD LOG HOUSE. 



Still by the wayside stands 

An old-fashioned log dwelling. 
Built by some Pilgrim hands. 

But who they were it is hard telling. 

And yet, the old house is there. 

Weather beaten, aged and forlorn, 

Her saddled roof shows lack of care, 
The chimney too, fallen and gone. 

Whose walls are covered with moss, 

Her broken windows decayed and all askew, 

And on her lorie trees their branches toss, 
Where once pretty flowers grew. 



179 



POEMS AND SONGS BY LEWIS R. WHITE. 

Broken and fallen in is the door, 

By wild woodvine nearly hid. 
The pathway by bush is grass-covered o'er, 

Where many foot-prints are hid. 

For years she has stood the storms trying blast, 

Snow and sleet, wind and rain, 
Yet she like the sun, has shadows cast, 

The birthplace of some heroic name. 

Who, like her, born with strong desire. 

With purpose true and brave, 
That neither false alarms or whims inspire, 

That aught but right and justice craves. 

Who has stood the test in years gone past, 

Of sin and shame, 
His dies on the nation's shadows cast, 

A never-forgotten memory his name. 

And thus in many a humble cot, 

There have been heroes born. 
Like a rose springing from a broken stock. 

Towering above thistle and thorn. 

Leaving their works like seeds behind, 

That spring forth afresh each commg year; 

Blessings that before us ever shine, 
Sweet memories of those once here. 



MAN IS BUT A SHADOW. 



Man is but a passing shadow. 

Fleeting o'er the landscape of time; 

And he must do what he can, 

As he travels up and down life's steep incline. 



180 



MAN IS BUT A SHADOW. 

For time waits for no one, 

And is ever passing swiftly on, 
He is seen here in life today, 

But tomorrow we say he has gone. 

And behind he must leave a record 
Of the time that was to him lent. 

And all the works he has done. 
Taking in the hours idly spent. 

If he has been a brave hero, 

And fearlessly entered through the gate. 
He leaves behind a shining record, 

For others to follow or imitate. 

So mankind is but a shadow. 

Ever passing swiftly beyond. 
While others are ever coming 

To fill the places of those who pass on. 

And thus this one short day below, 
Is but a place to grow the spirit, 

That we to a brighter world may go, 
To a mansion that we inherit, 

Where sorrow, pain and parting 

There is never known to be, 
Where all is joyous and happy hearted, 

In that beautiful paradise of the free. 



181 



POEMS AND SONGS BY LEWIS R. WHITE. 



THE HAPPY DANCER. 



Aound and around we did go, 
Dancing to the tunes you know, 
Heart to heart and arm in arm. 
All the while held by an unseen charm. 

The music floated o'er the balmy breeze, 
That caught it from the rose-scented breeze. 
As together round and round did soar, 
Merrily gliding o'er the waxed floor. 

We never got weary once that night, 
For our spirits were gay and our hearts were bright, 
Scuffling out the same old tunes in the same old way, 
Every time with the same sweet refrain. 

There was music there that charmed the soul. 
And made the timid heart grow bold, 
Causing him to wish he was not single, 
That thrilled every nerve with a tingle. 

And thus we danced the whole night through, 
Where the air was cool and the sky was blue, 
Till the shining sun came peeking on, 
And the music ceased and the players gone. 

It was the music of love that wrought the spell, 
Cupid's arrows I know it full well, 
A charming form and a smiling face, 
Here in my heart took her place. 



182 



THE HAPPY DANCER. 

And as the music rolled my feet grew light, 
Oft I look back upon that last night, 
Where I clasped my arms around her waist, 
Dancing to many tunes in the same familiar place. 

But alas, that night is gone and so is she, 
And aught is left here for me, 
It was the last farewell good-bye, 
Until we shall meet in the sky. 



LITTLE BOY BLUE. 



Little boy blue who watched the sheep, 
That by the corn shock went to sleep. 
That was awaked by a bugle horn 
Early on one bright summer morn. 
To find himself in battle array 
Had to leave his sheep and march away 
In a suit of blue, and a knapsack too, 
There he left them till he came back. 

Where they fed till they ate up the corn, 
Months passed away and yet time rolls on. 
All the while was facing shot and shell, 
Where many a brave soldier by bullet fell. 
Pierced and riddled by bullets, lead and steel, 
Who gave up their lives on the battlefield. 
Where cannon ball flew and bullets rained. 
That never saw their dear old homes again. 



183 



POEMS AND SONGS BY LEWIS R. WHITE, 

Months lengthened into years since that day 

That he left his sheep and went away, 

Awoke to arms by bugle horn, 

Who marched away and when found gone. 

They say where, where is my little boy blue, 

That fought and died for me and you. 

We from his life a harvest reap, 

While he is in a soldier's grave fast asleep. 



THE SNOWBALL TREE. 



In a yard stood a snowball tree, 

With white clusters covered o'er 
As full and white as they could be 

Opposite the window by the door. 

Where a fond mother stood one day. 

And as she gazed upon this sight, 
Repeated thoughts to herself did say 

My life is like this tree so white. 

That stands staunch and firm, seen by all. 
Whose fruits of life are as white as snow, 

A pure heart with regard for great or small. 
Whose burdened limbs are bending low. 

Year in and year out unchanged has stood, 
With outspread branches hanging low. 

To protect her young, and do all she could 

To keep them in the shade that they might grow. 

And thus seen blameless she stands. 

Whose whiteness plainly shines. 
To spend the saps of life with heart and hand. 

To shield them from the sun's creeping vine. 



184 



THE SNOWBALL TREE. 



That they may not wander far and wide, 
And in the mires of sin get misconstrued 

And yet if they do not by her teachings abide 
She like the snowball tree by them stood. 



A HAUNTED MIND. 



What good is life to a haunted mind, 

I can truly say there is none at all, 
For no peace nor comfort will be ever found. 

To spring from sins hardened walls. 

Where not a ray of light ever gleams, 

And where truth and beauty never dwells, 

All are dark realities and hideous dreams, 

Haunted visions of crimes and imprisoned spells, 

That seem to continually know at the brain. 
Shutting out all comfort and rays of light, 

O'er whose mantle hangs a crimson picture frame 
Of earth's gain and hell's cruel strife. 

Where the glossy serpent of sin. 

In younger days gaily worked his way, 

Slowly but firmly coiling there within. 
Till he at last is master one to stay. 

And thus the haunted mind began 

From little crimes and wrongs to larger ones. 
Step by step from youth to the older man, 

Till at last all good and truth he shuns. 



185 



POEMS AND SONGS BY LEWIS R. WHITE. 

He is ever seen skulking around at night, 

Seeming all of his fellowmen to shun, 
And as though his eyes could not stand the light. 

Having nothing to do with or trusting any one. 

Till at last he becomes desperately bold, 

All is gone, self-respect, shame, and even fear, 

When he gets there his days are nearly told, 

For he suddenly becomes the maker of his own bier. 



A MOTHER'S JOURNEY. 



In the beginning of life the fair maiden 

Falls in love and becomes a wife, 
With all of her strength and beauty laden. 

To face the cares and trials of married life. 

The world to her then looks bright and fair, 
For she seems to awaken as from a dream, 

And looks about, her eyes have a brighter stare 
Things are different than they used to seem. 

Everything seems to have a brighter light. 

Her silvery voice ripples in laughter and song, 

Like a bird she flutters around from morning till night, 
Planning for the future with ambition strong. 

Now that cupid in his art has sown his seed. 

They soon commence to yield and need tender care, 

Into sons and daughters, who instruction need. 
So some of her joyousness evaporated into air. 



186 



A MOTHERS .TOURNEY. 

And thus her day's journey through Hfe, 

Has reached the twelve o'clock hour of noon. 

Then like the sun traveling o'er the western hill of strife 
Towards the ripening- hour of full bloom. 

With care she watches o'er her darling ones, 
Ofttimes building castles of what they will do, 

Of this, and that they will become 
All brave heroes honest and true. 

But alas, when they have older grown, 
With years reckoned inside of but a score, 

Not heeding h^r, rebelliously have flown, 
Whose tears plead with them o'er and o'r. 

Thus for them she worries, watches and waits. 
They heeding not her love or kind teachings, 

Although she spends her life watching early and late. 
Inquiring for their good and beseeching. 

And so as the day draws nearer to a close, 
Wrinkled and old the gray dawn of years, 

The once bright flower, now a barren stalk, in repose, 
Like the dew-drops fall ofi walls with bitter tears. 

Sometimes those left behind in remorse, 

Think o'er thoughtless acts of which they repent, 

Plainly called to mind a son's or daughter's loss, 
A mother's life for them in anxiety spent. 

And thus the mother's journey ends, 
But her good teachings ofttimes live on, 

As she hoped and prayed for to the end, 
After we hear them say she has gone. 



187 



POEMS AND SONGS BY LEWIS R. WHITE. 



A MOTHER'S LOVE. 



I once had a dear mother, 

Who was all the world to me, 

That taught me the way I should go ; 

Also a sister and a brother ; 

Her life she gave for us three. 

So a mother's love I full well know. 

A kind mother's pleasures and joys 

Are those that transpire day by day. 

In her heart there is but one absorbing theme. 

Her darling babes, the girls and the boys. 

Of which all obstacles must be out of the way. 

Over which she laughs, cries and dreams. 

Notice all their motions, whether awake or asleep, 

Every smile or tear-drop fall, 

They are hushed and shielded from harm ; 

She an untiring watchfulness diligently keeps, 

Never forgetting a duty, no matter how small, 

Always thankful and forgiving love charms. 

Shielding them as they older grow 

From infancy to stages of girlhood and youth. 

Giving them her whole heart, expecting little in return, 

Worrying and watching, that she may know 

That they are walking in the ways of honor and truth, 

Her loving soul for them ever yearns. 

And yet there it does not end. 

Her love goes on to womanhood and manhood's age. 

Using herself as a shield, to guide them farther on, 

Hor good advice and thoughts extend 

That they in the ways of truth and honor be engaged, 

Ever resting upon her good name when she is gone. 



188 



A mother's love. 

And thus through Hfe she remains, 
Although she may be aged, old and poor, 
A spotless heart of gold still extends, 
No difference makes her many pains, 
Still hopes, prays and trusts forevermore, 
Till her short days of life are at an end. 

And even when the gray dawn of death, 
Like a dark cloud Ts o'er her cast, 
A smile ofttimes leaves its impress on her, 
Never forgotten by those who are left. 
Although they wonder, yet will return at last 
In answer to her prayer. 



THE SAILOR. 



A sailor's life is one he braves 

Upon the restless, storm-tossed sea, 

And her foaming briny waves. 

His work, and where he loves to be. 

He loves to shoot through the foam 
On her rolling and heaving tide, 

O'er her dark briny surface roam, 
Ever onward swiftly glide. 

Like a sea gull on her way, 

He rocks high and low in his boat. 

Gliding through the sparkling spray. 
In his cradle-house afloat. 



189 



POEMS AND SONGS BY LEWIS R. WHITE, 

He does not like upon the land, 

The unchanging dullness of the shore, 

He longs for that foaming strand, 
Where hurricanes and tempests roar. 

His spirits are ever fine and gay 
As he is taught on her briny breast, 

Like the eagle who flies away 

To seek the home she loves the best. 

He takes the bitter with the sweet, 
And never shrieks or courage lacks ; 

Rocked in the cradle boats of the deep. 
Where all are realities and facts. 



HAYING TIME. 



Earth's green carpet of spring 
That has been used for years. 

Again looks ragged and fringed. 

And must be trimmed with shears. 

As o'er hill and valley spread. 
Her clippings gathered at last. 

And fed to many a head, 
Dried and under cover cast. 

For yonder just o'er the brow. 

With daisies and buttercups strewed, 

Stands the farmer's gentle cow 
That furnishes many hungry food. 



190 



HAYING TIME. 

On the hillside sheep are feeding, 
They must have a bountiful store 

For a warm place they are ever needing, 
To keep them warm till winter is o'er. 

So we will rake in all the scatterings, 

And fill the mow well with hay 
For all the horses and cattle,' 

While the sun shines today. 

For tomorrow it may be overcast. 
And we must work while we may, 

For we do not know how our lot may be cast 
Before the gray dawn of another day. 



THE RAINBOW. 



Who made the rainbow 

That we see after the rain, 
That beautiful circle 

That disappears, only to return again? 
God made them all. 

Yes, God made the rainbow, 
The blue, the red and the gold, 

That beautiful, beautiful rainbow. 
That never-failing sign of old, 
He made them all. 

Who made the stars that twinkle. 
And the moon that travels by night. 

The meteors and comets of heaven, 
And the sun so warm and bright? 
God made them all. 



191 



POEMS AND SONGS BY LEWIS R. WHITE. 

Who made the earth 

And the dark blue ocean, 
And the rivers, brooks and springs, 

Keeping them running and in motion? 
God made them all. 

Who made the tall trees 

And the shrubs and flowers. 
Causing them to bud and bloom, 

And waters them with showers ? 
God made them all. 

Who made the beasts of the field 
And the fowl and birds of the air, 

That are so useful, and sweetly sing, 
Flying to and fro everywhere? 
God made them all. 



THE COMET. 



It was one evening when my labor was o'er. 

That I heard a gentle tapping at my door, 

As I by my table sat with downcast head. 

Arose to answer his call with slow and lazy tread. 

In seeing my neighbor, I was not surprised. 

What meant that smile and the brightness of the eye? 

What did he want in calling at my door, 

It was just this and nothing more. 

Have you seen the comet of old, 
Of which you have read or heard told, 
Up yonder shines that shaft so bright, 
Sending forth its long tail of light? 



192 



THE COMET. 

In this present year of ours, 1910, 

It is well to observe you may never see it again • 

I then aroused myself as from a swoon. 

Looking all around for something like the moon. 

He pointed out to my wandering sight 
That shining meteor of old king of starlight, 
And as I gazed these thoughts I recall. 
It is well to observe, for once may be all. 

Hear me all who read this simple tale, 

Do not yield to sluggish ways, but let good prevail; 

Uplift your downcast eyes to a brilliant call, 

And behold the prize, for once may be all. 

Through life never let a good chance slip. 
For there is many a slip between cup and lip, 
With gratitude accept kindness, no matter how small, 
They may not come again, for once may be all. 



YOUTH HAS PASSED BY. 



Youth has passed by, 
Never to return again ; 

The form once bright and spry, 
Is slow and full of pain. 

Youth has passed by. 
The form is bending low 

That once was straight and high, 
Whose feeble steps are slow. 



193 



POEMS AND SONGS BY LEWIS R. WHITE. 

Youth has passed by, 

Old age creeps on day by day, 
Whose scattered locks that winded fly, 

Are now turning gray. 

Youth has passed by. 

And all vigor and strength, 
A burden them would try, 

That now has a double length. 

Youth has passed by, 

A flower sweet and gay 
Now remains a stock old and dry, 

Whose petals have flown away. 

Youth has passed by. 

And she has sown her seed. 
To yield forth to him on high, 

Be good or bad the deed. 

Youth. 
Like a ship upon the ocean, 

Tossing low and high, 
Like a big fish in motion, 

Or the sea gulls' flight. 

Always restless, never content. 

Looking forward with eager eyes. 

To some notion always bent. 

Heeding not the time that swiftly flies. 



194 



A LIFE S JOURNEY. 



A LIFE'S JOURNEY. 



It was on one evening 

I went out for a lark, 
The stars shone bright, 

So it was not very dark. 

As I got ready for a sHde 
I met my charmer fair, 
I asked her to have a ride, 
This maid with sunny hair. 

Her eyes were all aglow, 

As I got ready for a start, 
Something in my vest was beating so, 

I guess it was my heart. 

She sat upon the front 

And I sat behind to steer. 
Now and then she looked behind 

To see if I were near. 

As we glided down the hill, 
I could not resist the charm, 

And my heart did thrill 

As around her waist stole my arm. 

She threw it ofif with a yank 

And a sarcastic wiggle. 
It was what I thought she'd do, 

So I began to giggle. 

She did not like the tease, 

And I was fond of teasing, 
I knew that the hug 

Was anything but pleasing. 



195 



POEMS AND SONGS BY LEWIS R. WHITE. 

So next time down, 

I quickly grabbed and kissed her, 
Then came a chubby hand 

And I received a bHster. 

I says, "I Hke this sHding, 

And wish we could slide forever," 

But with a twinkle in her eye, 
She says to me, "no never." 

Thus the happy schooldays passed, 

As we grew up together. 
And fired snowballs as we passed, 

And slid down the hill together. 

She grew to be a lovely maid, 

This fairy little creature. 
Till over all the boys and girls 

She was their teacher. 

I used to go over to her house 

To pass away the time. 
And my hat she always got 

Exactly at half past nine. 

It was there I coaxed and pleaded, 

For a lover's part, 
Till at last I succeeded, 

In gaining of her heart. 

Vowing I would ever love her, 

And be staunch and true, 
That we would sail together, 

O'er life's ocean blue. 

Arm and arm we sought the altar, 

And she became my bride. 
And my heart uplifted. 

As I stood by her side. 



196 



A LIFE S JOURNEY. 

And we started in life together, 

As I have said before, 
Till the angel of death 

Should enter at the door. 

Years we had been traveling 

Up life's rugged way, 
Through the storms or sunshine, 

Of every passing day. 

Sharing each other's sorrows, 

Sharing each other's joys, 
Just as in schooldays, 

When we were girls and boys. 

Now we are getting old. 

And life is nearly through, 
I am thinking of the past, 

And what we used to do. 

Years that have flown. 

So short they seem. 
Now that we have older grown, 

They are but a dream. 

Those happy by-gone days. 
When we were both young. 

And went to school together. 
Sliding down hill for fun. 

And when we rambled o'er the meadows. 
Picking bouquets of flowers. 

Or telling fairy tales. 
In some shady bower. 

And when we were made one, 
And my heart was full of pride 

When I saw my blushing sweetheart, 
Standing by my side. 



197 



POEMS AND SONGS BY LEWIS R. WHITE. 

And how we entered life together, 

Saving up golden stores, 
Till those happy days have ended, 

And life's toils are nearly o'er. 

Until our cheeks have withered. 

And Hfe is full of care, 
Still we love each other ever, 

For the same old love is there. 

Hand in hand we will journey on, 

In the same old way, 
Where there is no cloud, 

But all sunshine and day. 

And together ever be, 

In that bright domain. 
Children happy and free 

Once again. 



A RIBBLE RABBLE. 



Now boys and girls 

I will tell you something funny. 
It is not the biggest hive of bees 

That makes the most honey, 
Nor is it the one who work enjoys 

That makes the most money. 

Nor is it the one who runs the longest 

That can stand a test. 
Nor the one that is the strongest 

That can lift the best. 
Nor the one that outshines them all 

Who is with breath blest. 



198 



A RIBBLE RABBLE, 

Nor is it the one who sings the best 

That can sing- the loudest, 
Nor the one who seems stuck up 

That is always the proudest. 

But it is the one who does his duties well, 

That does not try to shirk, 
Who makes every lesson tell, 

Laying up the benefit of his work. 



FORSAKEN OLD MAN. 



Once there lived a man, 

Who was aged and poor, 
And ofttimes with cane in hand, 

He used to totter from door to door. 

By the wayside his cottage stood, 

And a shade tree tall, 
Around it a fence of rotten wood, 

While ivies covered the wall. 

His sons from him fled. 

And his income was small. 
And his honest wife was dead, 

So he was forsaken by all. 

It was on one cold winter night, 

When the snow piled high. 
That his cottage was hidden from sight, 

Without a watchful eye. 



199 



POEMS AND SONGS BY LEWIS R. WHITE. 

The wind blew fierce and strong, 

And bitter was the cold, 
The neighbors thinking nothing wrong 

That could happen to the man so old, 

Till three days had passed away, 

And all the roads with snow were piled, 

Together they shoveled all day, 
Towards the lonely stile. 

No life they saw within, 

No smoke from the chimney top, 
So with slow steps they entered in 

And did not stop to knock. 

They looked the cottage o'er 

And every place they eyed. 
They found him on the shed floor. 

Where he had frozen and died. 



A GOOD RESOLUTION. 



I like to go to school. 

And learn to cipher, write and read, 
For I know when I am a man, 

It will be just what I shall need. 

For it is they that do not try to learn 

That in ignorance remain. 
Who when older grown look back, 

Because they did not take more pains. 



200 



A GOOD RESOLUTION. 



I will do my duty well, 

And listen to my teacher's plan, 
For who knows that I may not be 

Like George Washington, hero in the land. 



TWO HEARTS. 



When two hearts beat as one. 

With but a single thought, 
Love in infancy has just begun, 

And all else has been forgot. 

When two hearts beat as one. 

They care not for years. 
For they together are united 

To enjoy coming years. 

Two hearts that beat as one, 

Each other they never miss, 
But love to errands run. 

For all is perfect bliss. 

When two hearts beat as one. 

All is bright and shining, 
When together they walk hand in hand. 

Around each other entwining. 



201 



POEMS AND SONGS BY LEWIS R. WHITE. 



WHEN A MAN. 



A blacksmith I shall be, 

When I am a man, 
Forge, steel and hammer swing, 

With a skilful hand. 

For I love to hear the anvil ring 

And watch the sparks fly, 
Of iron and steel I will make everything. 

And shoe horses as they pass by. 

When I am a man a ship I will build. 

To sail upon the sea, 
I will be a captain in command. 

Oh, that is the life for me; 

I will build her safe and true, 

And strong as an iron band. 
And sail her over the ocean blue 

To some foreign land ; 
Oh, that is what I will do. 



LOVE'S CRADLE BOAT. 



In this sea of chance 
Two souls afloat 
In love's cradle boat. 
Rock and dance. 

They heed not the tide, 
But rock low and high 
As the waves roll by. 
And ever onward glide. 

202 



LOVE S CRADLE BOAT. 

While o'er the rollers tossed, 
She shoots ahead, 
O'er the briny bed, 
And naught is lost. 

But through the foam 
And flying spray, 
She stems her way 
Safely home. 



THE LIFE VOYAGE. 



Christ, thou art my all. 

In thee I humbly confide. 
Like the sparrow I am small, 

Forever thou shalt be my guide 
As I sail o'er life's stormy sea. 

To that heavenly port beyond the tide, 
Thou shalt my refuge and anchor be. 

O'er life's stormy ocean wide. 

As my frail bark is tossed to and fro 

Upon her foaming restless wave. 
Thou wilt bid her safely go 

Into that crystal harbor beyond the grave. 
Where the harbor lights are burning bright. 

In a port of heavenly rest, 
I shall receive a crown of diamonds bright 

And dwell forever with the blest. 



203 



POEMS AND SONGS BY LEWIS R. WHITE, 

In that heavenly port moored forever, 

Free from storm and wave, 
To dwell with dear ones, and Christ forever, 

And those that have the voyage manly braved. 
There are angels with outstretched hands 

To welcome me when the voyage is o'er. 
To a bright mansion in that heavenly land, 

An ever shining shore. 

Christ, the light, that never grows dim. 

That shines far over the dark wave, 
Our frail bark may sail in safety to him, 

To that heavenly port beyond the grave, 
Where all is beautiful and bright, 

Where all is glittering and fair, 
And thousands of angels dressed in white. 

To welcome us when we get there. 



DOING RIGHT. 



It is not the one that learns it all. 

And learns it in a short time. 
To whose feet a fortune falls 

Or up the highest mountain climbs. 

But it is the one who does right 
And who always shuns the wrong. 

Like Washington who won the fight. 
And became conqueror, bold and strong. 

For good deeds will always stand, 
And time can never throw them down. 

For there has been many a hero in the land 
Whose names in history are found. 



204 



MY BABY. 



MY BABY. 



O'er his grave I weep good-bye, 

Jesus hear my lonely cry, 
For sad and lonely here am I, 

For thou hast taken my baby from me. 

For at heaven's gate 

He, with the loved ones, is waiting for me, 
When from bondage I am free, 

For thou hast taken my baby from me. 

Soon my loved ones I shall see, 

When Jesus comes for me ; 
Happy with them I shall be, 

For thou hast taken my baby from me. 

I am only waiting here. 

From my eyes there drops a tear, 
To me this world is dark and drear. 

For thou hast taken my baby dear. 

I long to enter that world of light, 

Where there is neither parting nor night 

With angels of light, 

For thou hast taken my loved one bright. 

Then happy with them I shall be, 
Bright angels in heaven you see. 

And the dear ones all with me. 

For thou hast taken my baby from me. 



205 



POEMS AND SONGS BY LEWIS R. WHITE. 



LOVE. 



Love is pure and sweet, 

Kind words for all those whom she meets, 

A reflection like the ocean swell, 

A healing balm for those that around her dwell. 

Love is patience and endurance, 
Safely through her comes an insurance 
That will not leave you in despair, 
But will attend with utmost care. 

Love is true and strong, 

Guiding us from all that is wrong 

When discouraged and weak. 

Life seeming but a span. 

She reaches forth leading us by the hand. 

He that sticks to his task 

Is the one that will win. 

For he is sure to conquer at last, 

No matter how he begins. 



TIME, TIMES AND A HALF. 



Oh, time, who is there that can measure thy length? 

Only as those who pass by. 
For only he who knows thy length, 

Dwells on high. 



206 



TIME, TIMES AND A HALF. 

Thou art a mighty revolving wheel 

On an eternal shaft, 
For what skilful brain is there 

That can measure time, times and a half. 

Sweet and bitter incidents untold, 

Dark as the crimson stain, 
Or bright as the shining gold. 



THERE MUST BE SOMETHING WRONG. 



In this beautiful city of ours. 

Two churches stand, one with a belfry complete 

And the other with a lofty tower; 

In one the people meet with smiling faces and glad 

hearts. 
To sing praises unto God and do their parts. 
While the bell in the other tower, 
Seems to say as it rings out each passing hour, 
With a sad and mournful tongue, 
There must be something wrong. 

In one a pastor stands with outstretched hands 

To welcome all, both old and young, great or small. 

From near or distant lands, 

And teach them the grace of God and his mighty love, 

And guide them to the heaven above. 

While inside of the other's vacated walls, 

There is no congregation and no pastor at all, 

And the people to it cast an eye and travel on, 

And to each other say as they pass by. 

There must be something wrong. 



207 



POEMS AND SONGS BY LEWIS R. WHITE. 

Upon stone foundations both churches stand, 

As good ones as ever were built with hands, 

But the one with the lofty tower and a clock, 

With the golden weather vane on top, 

Seems to point over the hills and far away. 

Two ministers' homes that came to preach, but could 

not stay, 
And even the winds in their vigils strong, 
Seem to mourn out a sigh as they whistle by, 
There must be something wrong. 

Once was the time that in this church, 

Whose walls are whitened, 

There were many thriving members. 

And they were all united. 

But ah, now how sad she looks, forsaken and forlorn. 

With her members scattered, some to other churches 

gone, 
And some whose voices never will be heard any more, 
Have gone to the other shore ; 

And the clock in the tower the time ever measuring on, 
Seems to wail out each fleeting hour, 
There must be something wrong. 



SURVEYING A FAIRY LAND. 



We are ever a fairy land surveying, 

Beautiful treasures and glittering gold, 
Castles with lofty towers swaying, 

Emblems of purity and value untold. 
In all of our hopes and prayers saying. 

We will hear ancient melodies of old. 
Low and sweet upon hearts with players playing, 

That will gladden and content the soul. 



208 



SURVEYING A FAIRY LANX, 

And upon endless seas of perfect bliss, 

Of enjoyment and peace our souls will fill, 
All of earth's luxuries we will never miss, 

And say; now waiting heart, peace be still, 
For thou hast accompHshed all thy desires. 

No more worry, all longing or sad lament, 
Let song and laughter in music swells roll higher ; 

Thy paths are ways of peace, be content. 

No more downfalls and changes of highest tossed. 

Hardships enduring by shifting them. 
For paradise we purchase at highest cost, 

When all has paid, will evermore be redeemed, 
In a land of love and sweet scented flowers. 

And with fairies dwell as in olden tale. 
Amid sweet perfume and shady bowers, 

On harp play the redemption tale. 



A MOTHER'S TEACHING. 



I once had a mother dear. 

Who for me shed many a tear, 

And who did over me watch day and night, 

And guide my erring steps aright. 

Who taught me how to watch and pray. 

And to be honest and truthful each passing day. 

With a heart of simplicity and love, 

Pointing up to the heaven above. 

In childhood days of thoughtless glee, 
Well I remember the little stories taught me, 
On a little cricket by the fire. 
Of Moses, Ruth and Jeremiah. 



209 



POEMS AND SONGS BY LEWIS R. WHITE. 

Of Daniel in the lion's den, 

Of Adam and Eve the beginning of man, 

And the three ancient worthies to the furnace go, 

Shadrach, Meshach and Abednego. 

Of many others I might recall, 
John and James, Luke and Paul, 
Of wicked people in days gone by, 
Who our dear Savior did crucify. 



SPRING COMING. 



A robin's notes in the shade tree, 

Is heard through the sunny air, 
And a longing, expecting waiting, 

A glad welcoming of spring everywhere. 

The patient farmer is a-waiting. 

His fair green fields to till, 
And white clouds go floating by, 

In the sunlight shining o'er the hill. 

There is a rustle in the forest branches. 
As of birds, the flutter of their wings, 

And as the gentle breezes go wafting by, 
All is glad, they tell of coming Spring. 

For springing from their mossy beds. 

Earth, like tombs, the Mayflower is seen. 

Opening her buds of pink and white. 

Sending sweet fragrance o'er earth's carpet green. 

Winter with snow and sleet has passed away. 

She has blown her blasts, her frosty breath is o'er. 

And her cold dark shadows alas, past. 
We see the coming Spring once more. 



210 



A JEWEL OF A WIFE. 



A JEWEL OF A WIFE. 



Sweet are the birds, 

And sweet are the flowers, 
And sweet is the sunshine 

In the long summer hours. 

But sweeter is the maid, 

Whose heart never grows cold ; 
That from doing right has never strayed. 

Whose love to others unfold. 

With eyes like the diamonds, 

And cheeks like the rose, 
Brightening the paths of others, 

Wherever she goes. 

Who always meets you with a smile. 

And never with a frown, 
When your day's labor is o'er. 

And you have laid your cares down. 

Who embraces your arms. 

And seals your lips with a kiss, 
It helps make life a paradise, 

And a heaven of bliss. 

Who never snaps nor snarls, 

Neither teases nor scolds. 
Nor meets you with an angry frown, 

But is ever blessed with Job's grace of old. 

For she is like a bright sunbeam. 

Filling the household with pleasure and Hght, 
Driving from the brow dark shadows. 

In their places leaving hope shining bright. 



211 



POEMS AND SONGS BY LEWIS R. WHITE. 



KIND WORDS. 



Kind words are easy to repeat, 

And unto others to impart, 
Anger turning to shame and defeat, 

Ofttimes melting the stubborn heart. 

They give the hopeless hope, 

And the weak in spirit strength, 
The darkened mind a brighter scope, 

And the speech a different length. 
They penetrate the thoughtless ear. 

And guide by many a plot. 
Giving courage to those that live in fear, 

Impressions never to be forgot. 

Turning enemies into friends. 

And disturbances into rules of peace, 
Ofttimes lengthening divine ends. 

Forming a new and longer lease. 

The slandering tongue a different sound. 

Friends meet us with a changed gaze, 
And from them joyous greetings bound, 

Kind words true wage. 

Kind words can never die. 

Well did poet sing. 
Cheering the heart, brightening the eye. 

And leaving behind no sting. 

Kind words can never die, 

Ofttimes did he repeat, 
We have heard them o'er and o'er in days gone by. 

And yet they sound sweet. 



212 



KIND WORDS. 

Kind words can never die, 
He wrote them with his pen, 

And if they were used in days gone by, 
Why not use them again. 

Kind words can never die. 

He scribbled them with pen of art, 
Their effect seen with brain and eye. 

Impressions left upon the heart. 

Kind words can never die, 

Their echoes are complete. 
Changing places with many a sigh, 

Their sounds ever soft and sweet. 

Kind words can never die. 

Are what we have been taught. 

And God, who dwells on high, 
The same words to us brought. 

Kind words can never die. 

Were words of God's strong intent, 
A guide to that world on high. 

When life on earth is spent. 



THE REVIEW. 



In review of the long ago, 

In those good old times. 
When people loved each other so. 

Immigrating from foreign climes. 



213 



POEMS AND SONGS BY LEWIS R. WHITE. 

And in forest with the redmen dwelt, 

When haircuts were free, 
And close shaves were never felt, 

In freedom's land of America. 

When rich and poor were all the same, 
There lived in the forests spent, 

Ease and comfort being their aim, 
Unmolested and content. 

In nights of darkness drear. 

The pleasing sounds of footsteps light, 
Ofttimes gladdened the sensitive ear. 

Uninvited guests with feathers bright. 

To cheer those lonesome hours. 

With war dance and song. 
Where firebrand torch-lights were thrown, 

To illuminate that happy throng. 

When beasts were not rare 

On hill or cane-brakes, 
Their sweet perfumes filled the air. 

As they were roasted to the stakes. 

When time seemed to drag slow. 

For amusement played hide and hoot, « 

The white man would quickly go. 
While the red men cleared the coop. 

Plenty of work to be done, 

No pesky Unions to interfere. 
They worked from sun to sun. 

Without strikes or strikers here. 



Iil4 



THE REVIEW. 

The clothes they wore upon their backs, 

Were also neat and trim, 
For they were made of wool or flax, 

With moccasins soft and thin. 

No pastry or baker's stuff, 

Did their tables adorn, 
What made them healthy and tough 

Was whole wheat and pounded corn. 

No high boots, wire rats or corset thongs. 

On them were ever placed, 
Natural they grew, healthy and strong, 

Round and plump with glowing face. 

Cruel college then was not man's aims, 
In trying to learn the football art. 

Wrestling, jumping and other games, 
To ruin and break his heart. 

Their aims then were simple and plain, 
Like dving on ocean or battlefield, 

Freedom's holv right to gain, 

By cannon ball or glittering steel. 

Old times of necessary themes. 

No steam cars to carry their packs. 

Electric motors or flying machines, 
All manual labor and hard facts. 

No telephone or telegraph. 

No bicycles with burst tires, 
Nor anv other horseless crafts. 

Such as automobiles and wheelbarrows. 



215 



poems and songs by lewis r. white, 

Moral. 

There are young and old, 

In days gone by, 
"Whose wisdom is yet untold, 

And whose names will never die. 

There are wise men called now, 

Who are like a copy sheet, 
That is only stamped behind their brow. 

What others died to complete. 

There is no heart as brave or strong", 
That never was known to do wrong. 

Nor is there a hero of today 

Truer or braver than those that sleeping lay. 

There is no cunning thought or art, 

That is expressed today, 
That long ago entered some ancient heart, 

That lived and went his way. 



ALWAYS BUSY. 



In a foundry of iron coiling, 
That busy workers are toiling, 
That they are a steady beating, 
In the moments ever fleeting. 

Which hungry mouths are waiting, 
For their regular baiting, 
And every day needs replacing. 
Like the sun the morning facing, 

216 



ALWAYS BUSY. . 

The darkest night always chasing, 
To keep things from spoiHng, 
To keep the bell a-tolling, 
And keep the wheel steadily rolling, 

Here and there ever popping. 
Sickles never stopping, 
Till life's work is o'er. 
And we are gone forevermore. 



DEAR ONES WAITING FOR ME. 



There are dear ones who have gone 
Far o'er the dark blue sea. 

While I here breast the storm, 
They are there waiting for me. 

Just beyond the dark stream, 

In that ever shining land, 
I catch a heavenly gleam, 

Of the dear ones' beckoning hands. 

Yes, dear ones are waiting for me, 
On that ever pearl shore ; 

A harbor light over there I see. 
That will guide me safely o'er. 

Just over the billowy sea. 

In that beautiful crystal harbor, 

Loved ones are waiting for me. 
At the right hand of the Father. 



217 



POEMS AND SONGS BY LEWIS R. WHITE. 

There we shall part no more, 
In that beautiful city of gold. 

A rejoicing' chorus sings o'er and o'er, 
Within the shepherd's fold. 



CUPID'S TEACHINGS. 



Within a quiet cot, 

A gentle form slept not ; 

From whose windows light. 

Shining through darkness of night. 

O'er fields and meadows, 
And hedge casting shadows. 
She leans o'er the window sill. 
With longing heart waiting still. 

Now she knows the full meaning 
Of the form she has been dreaming, 
When wandering alone in morning mist. 
When she felt an angel's kiss. 

To remove from her heart 
The veil and love to impart. 
Cupid's message from above, 
Teaching her to fondly love. 

Now in the silence of the night. 

With eyes shining bright. 

She is looking through the dim, 

And her spirit speaks of aught but him. 



218 



THE ROSES. 



THE ROSES. 



Hast thou forgotten the rose's face, 

That blossomed in the morn ? 
Beauty and sweetness in it trace, 

Fair and bright to look upon. 

Some more radiant and complete, 

With a fairer, fuller bloom ; 
And yet they are not so sweet, 

And have a vile perfume. 

Ofttimes the sweetest rose that ever grew, 

And the fairest to look upon, 
As pure as the morning dew. 

Sometimes has the sharpest thorn. 



BRIDAL TEARS. 



How sweet and sad are bridal tears. 
Through longing and love is shed. 

That are recalled in coming years. 

When two hearts together were wed. 

How sweet and sad are bridal tears. 

That low, sweet voice, with a heaving sigh. 

That lays one side all doubts, all fears. 
Shown by the unselfish glance of the eye. 

How sweet and sad are bridal tears, 
And that trusting look we retrace ; 

A brand leaving her scar for life's years, 
That crimson blush, that girlish grace. 



219 



POEMS AND SONGS BY LEWIS R. WHITE. 

How sweet and sad are bridal tears, 

In sadness ofttimes retraced. 
That memory ever sweet and dear, 

A charm we love to place. 



A JEALOUS DISPOSITION. 



Ah! jealous heart of deepest dye, 

On thy face is stamped a part. 
In that full, deepset, black eye, 

I read the depth of thy heart. 

And in that sloping Grecian brow, 
High cheek-bone and firm-set lips, 

Unyielding as an iron prow, 

From which wrath and laughter slips. 

Thou art ever firm in thy desire. 

Learning not from others, ways best, 

But resolutions form, burning like fires. 
Within that seeming quiet breast. 

Who is ever distinct in thy speech, 
And hearest quickly what others say. 

Their full meaning sure to search, 
Judging them as thou may. 

Thine imaginations like the fathomless ocean, 

Are boundless, dark and deep. 
Whose under-current, heaving motion, 

Is ever ready to break forth with a leap. 



220 



A JEALOUS DISPOSITION. 

Thine eyes are like the piercing sun, 
That are ever penetrating in their glare. 

Thoughts like clouds, across the sun. 
Regulating the rays shining there. 

Orbs that telephone to the brain, 
And when sorrows deepest dyes. 

Expressive hopefulness, grief and pain. 
From a tear-clouded, drooping eye. 

But when in merriment inclined, 

Taking that mischievous part. 
Like glittering diamonds that shine. 

That would warm the coldest heart. 

Thy passions of love, thou can'st not control, 

Like a volcano's bursting flash ; 
That rules thy mind, heart and soul, 

Love-lights flame beneath a drooping lash. 

Ever mindful, like the cobra-di-capel-lo, 
That trusteth not but watches well, 

To enfold within her coils the fellow 
On which her mad passion dwells. 

And cannot trust those who love her best. 
To whom superstitions like mountains rise ; 

Growing larger and larger within her breast, 
Till they become truths before her eyes. 

Then like a tiger from his lair, 

Stung to the quick doth fiercely roar, 

Her love all gone, no feeling there. 
But for vengeance cries o'er and o'er. 

Who with marble face and clinched teeth, 

And a piercing blood-shot eye, 
Grows fiercer in an angry writhe. 

To slay the one who for her would die. 



221 



POEMS AND SONGS BY LEWIS R. WHITE. 

With false accusations rented Cupid's heart, 
And leaves it in sorrow bleeding" ; 

She without reason plays the devil's part, 
While he at her feet is pleading. 

She hears not, for her ears are deaf. 
Until some stranger happens along, 

And tells her contrary to her belief, 
That she is mistaken and wrong. 

Jealous passions without reason. 

And false accusations. 
Are aught but treason. 

The devil's confessions. 



THE FAIRY WANDERER. 



It was starlight in the evening, 
On my dear old northern shore, 

And the dews fell on the roses 
That grew around the door. 

And the breezes their vigil's keeping. 
As they wafted the roses' sweet perfume. 

While the night-bird aroused from sleeping 
Was merrily warbling his favorite tune. 

As I sat looking out of my window, 
In the cool evening's purple glow. 

Thinking of the many little wanderers, 
That have no home or places to go. 



222 



THE FAIRY WANDERER. 

I was nearly thinking, nearly napping, 
Somewhat lonely as I had been before ; 

When I heard a gentle tap, tapping, 

And a scufifing, gentle knocking at my door. 

I went to greet them, rising from my chair. 

Opening wide my front door ; 
Looking out in the moon's bright glare, 

I beheld a vision I ne'er saw before. 

Standing on the walk in the moonlight. 
With eyes of Heaven's own blue, 

That shone like the stars of midnight. 
With curly hair of a golden hue. 

Her cheeks were white and pale, 
And her cherry lips, they quivered. 

With one white hand lifting her veil. 
As she with thirst and hunger shivered. 

Says she, "kind sir," with trembling lip, 

"I have no work or place to go, 
If you will furnish room that I may sip, 

I will always love, I mean, thank you so." 

When I saw those pleading, anxious eyes, 
Filled with tears looking into mine, 

I was touched with pity and surprise. 

That a fairy queen in my house should find. 

I said to her, ''Come in my fairy queen", 
Of words I could think of no other ; 

And from her eyes shone a hopeful gleam. 
As I led her to my dear old mother. 

And as I took her little white hand. 

Making sure that she should find the way ; 

Leading her to my mother's stand. 
While I to her did say : 



223 



POEMS AND SONGS BY LEWIS R. WHITE. 

"Dear mother, here is a fairy maiden, 

I think has dropped from the sky ; 
And that she is with blessings laden. 

For to give to both you and I. 

"That will administer kind words of cheer. 

And to our wants a helping hand. 
She will be with you when I am not here. 

The one you can trust and understand." 

Her gentle kindness won my mother's heart, 
And my odd one grew warm and clever, 

Then we declared from her we would never part, 
And that she should stay with us forever. 

Ah ! misplaced thoughts our hearts deceiving. 
As though we could extend life's brittle thread, 

That time around us is constantly weaving, 

In which we are caught like a fly in a spider's web. 

For a while all was well, sweet hours of bliss, 
Like the shifting winds their vigils keeping; 

For the dear old mother we were forced to miss. 
Was laid away numbered with the sleeping. 

She kind words spoke, and my sorrow tried to smother. 
In my heart there was a new feeling expressed. 

To me she was the dearest one of all others, 
As for life I clasped her to my throbbing breast. 

But ah ! how sweet the memory of the past, 

And how dreary the present time ; 
When sad and lonely left at last, 

By loved ones who once around me entwined. 

All alone in old age and declining years, 

With stooped form and gray head bending o'er, 

The fairy wanderer gone to a sunny sphere, 
I alone with the woodbine around the door. 



224 



THE FAIRY WANDERER. 



Where once bright and fair roses grew, 

Like all the rest they too are no more, 
From whose blushing petals sparkled the dew, 

A once flowery lawn now with burdock covered o'er. 



A DECEITFUL CAT. 



A cat comes purring around, 
And going from house to house, 

To see what may be found 

In the shape of a rat or mouse. 

And as you looked with surprise. 
Beholding this charming creature. 

You can see the cunning in her eyes. 
And the expression in her feature. 

As she approaches with timid pace, 
And a soft, low, sweet wailing. 

With side glances she sees your face, 
And knows that she is prevailing. 

With pride you view her o'er, 
This creature so slick and trim. 

An accident brought her to your door. 
And you were glad to invite her in. 

Your heart is touched by her kittenish ways. 
And her low and musical purr ; 

She seems in a gladdened trance, dazed, 
And lets you softly stroke her fur. 



225 



POEMS AND SONGS BY LEWIS R. WHITE. 

And then she laughs to herself, 

To see how slick her cards were played ; 

An actor of timid virtue itself, 

This impression on you she has made. 

And out of those sparkling oval eyes, 
That seem to have a bashful glance, 

There is nothing that she has not spied, 
And is planning to get at a better chance. 

And as she gently trots by your side. 

All the while softly spinning, 
She has gained the object of her pride. 

That, your soft heart in winning. 

You give hungry puss cream with grace. 
And with joy watch her queenly lap ; 

That she has so highly honored your place. 
Will repay by giving the mouse a tap. 

Now puss, that I have taken from the street, 
And adopted you a pretty pet, so rare, 

I will protect your unguarded feet. 
And give you a home with care. 

You must the same sweet kitten ever be, 
And catch mice and rats for you and me ; 

Sleep upon the mat by the stove so warm, 
Neither bite nor scratch nor do any harm. 

As mistress of his house, he left her there, 
This pure, sweet kitten, so bright and fair ; 

With gentle purr and winning glance. 
Like the emblem of purity in a trance. 



226 



A DECEITFUL CAT. 

But ah ! how is it on his return, 

When he the truth commences to learn, 
The cunning craft, slyness and deceit, 
• That by a little cat he was doped complete. 

Ah ! he had found her out too late, 
But she was there and there to stay ; 

All of his hopes blighted, oh, cruel fate. 
His happiness like leaves flown away. 

For her sweetness had turned to gall, 
Her purity to wickedness unknown. 

For in those gleaming eyes he sees it all, 
Now that the mask is backward thrown. 

He sees the cunning craft hidden there, 

The downcast gaze, in place a piercing stare, 

No kittenish grace he sees in her of late. 
But like an animal at bay for him she waits. 

Her soft step and sweet permews 

Has turned to tiger leaps and growls. 

And the meals she once so swiftly sipped 
With downcast head and puckered lip, 

Now she grabs with an angry frown. 
Gnaws and tears, looking fiercely around. 

And at his gentle touch jumps away, 
With fur all bristled, as much as to say, 

"Do you understand, I am your match, 
And I will thank you with a scratch ; 

No more I will set and spin and be quiet, 
But weep and wail and run and riot. 

"Even to bite, fight, scratch and swear. 

Doing every thing despisable, pulling hair, . 

And let you know that I am mistress here. 
That you I do not love nor fear." 



227 



POEMS AND SONGS BY LEWIS R. WHITE. 

With patience he tries to stop her career, 
By pouring common sense into her ear, 

That she might more loving grow, 
And turn from her sin and woe. 

But ah ! how sad her bitter fate, 

When she found out her mistake too late, 

For the sin-sick heart of this poor cat, 
Was found lying dead upon her mat. 

Now all you young cats, nice and neat. 

Do not try to gain by false deceit, 
For as you deal to others, will be dealt to you. 

As it was proven to this pussy cat mew. 

If you your faults try to mend, 
You will surely succeed in the end, 
Making others happy, whom you meet. 

And when you are gone leave a record pure and 
sweet. 



A LOST BOY. 



A boy upon one bright spring day. 

Wandered from home amid flowers of May, 

Whose sweet perfumes rented the air. 

Warmed by the sun, the butterfly passed him there. 

And he merrily whistled as he ran along, 
O'er the mossy ground by hedge and thorn ; 
Watching the birds soar in the breeze, 
Or listening to their songs amid the trees. 



228 



A LOST BOY. 

He with a light heart and spirits gay, 
Sang and whistled all of the bright spring day ; 
Taking no heed of time as it quickly passed, 
Till the sun's setting rays warned him at last. 

He stopped and looked with a flushed face, 
And thought, "It's time I my steps retrace, 
I must return and no longer onward roam, 
It will soon be dark and I am far from home. 

He quickly started homeward on the run, 
All the while thinking of his day's fun ; 
The sun had nearly set in the west. 
But on he ran not stopping to rest. 

He had stayed too late, now it was evening tide. 
The sun gone down and he without a guide, 
In the pathless forest without a light. 
The home of wild beasts in the night. 

And as he stopped to see where he was, 
Marked the spot and in fear he paused, 
Then taking the course that he thought was right. 
He ran with quick step for it was coming night. 

The forest grew thicker, no path in view. 

And the place looked strange and new. 

He running around for an hour or more. 

At last stopped right where he had started before. 

This was his marked spot he well knew. 

Now he was lost and he knew not what to do. 

He could hear the crackling and rustling trees, 

And the hoots of the owls borne to him on the breeze. 

He was nearly exhausted and dared not cry, 
But backed into an old hollow tree close by, 
He dared not move for he could hear in the dark, 
Crackling twigs, the loupcivier and foxes bark. 



229 



POEMS AND SONGS BY LEWIS R. WHITE. 

And even the wind seemed to sigh and wail, 
Fining his mind with horrible tale, 
He dare not go, for in the dark he could not see, 
He dare not stay all night in the hollow tree. 

And as he trembled with hunger and fear, 
He breathed a prayer with a falling tear. 
That to him was taught from God's word, 
Would deliver him he felt assured. 

And as he wiped his tear dimmed eyes. 
With a clearer mind he viewed the skies. 
Thanking his mother for the prayer to him taught, 
That in this time of trouble he hadn't forgot. 

It was then he saw a bright golden light, 
Penetrating through the darkness of night, 
Sent to deliver him from a horrid doom, 
Sure he did, for behold it was the moon. 

And as he rose pouring forth his radiant light. 
His heart was filled with hope of flight. 
And that he, taking him for his guide. 
Would in safety land him at his own home side. 

And as he forsook his wooden tomb. 
Ever keeping his eyes upon the shining moon. 
Finding the path his heart grew stronger, 
He was delivered and was lost no longer. 

And unto this day, he never forgot that ramble, 
Through flowers, bush and bramble, 
And through the forest, dark and wild. 
Where he got lost when but a child. 

And that prayer too, he never forgot. 
That by his mother's knee to him was taught ; 
Many times keeping him from sin and strife, 
A bright shining all through life. 



230 



A LOST BOY. 



It mattered not where his footsteps may roam, 
In safety it always brought him home ; 
A sure deHverer when truthfully sought, 
A prayer the lost boy never forgot. 



THE TREE OF THE BITTER SWEET. 



Life is a tree that yields forth, 

The fruits of the bitter sweet, 
Ever forming on and failing not ; 

That passes like shadows we meet. 
Known at the time but soon forgot. 

Kissed by the sunshine and the rain, 
Ripening as the days swiftly fly, 

That will not keep or flavor maintain, 

For which the riches of earth will not buy, 

And yet springeth forth again. 

Like a seed from the inner core, 
That leaves its acid substance to rot, 

Going beyond and seen no more. 
Where all the bitter is forgot, 

And the sweeter part flourishes evermore. 



231 



POEMS AND SONGS BY LEWIS R. WHITE. 



LOVE'S CRADLE BOAT 



In this sea of chance, 

Two souls afloat, 

In love's cradle boat. 
Rock and dance. 

They heed not the tide, 
But rock low and high, 
As the waves roll by, 

And ever onward glide. 

While o'er the rollers tossed, 

She shoots ahead. 

O'er the briny bed. 
And none is lost. 

But through the foam 

And flying spray. 

She stems her way. 
Safely home. 



LOVE AND NOT LOVE. 



Love is not love that turns to scorn, 
When youth and beauty are faded and gone. 
But love is love that changes not, 
Through space of years, the same ever set. 
Regardless of circumstances, place or time. 
Like barred links of cable chains, 
On which the windlass or capstan strains, 
Ever wrenched by the tides of brine. 



232 



LOVE AND NOT LOVE. 

Love looks beyond the clouds of mist, 

Like drenched flowers by the rain fall kissed, 

Who to craggy walls beauty imparts, 

From whose petals, perfumes arise to gladden hearts, 

That is still there, through space between. 

Leaves many a kind word unsaid, 

Like the sun behind the cloiid unseen. 

Unseen yet constantly shines o'erhead. 



PAST ERRORS. 



How sad is the erring heart. 

That is in desolation left. 
Where false appearing friends 

Have sought in selfish part, 
No sun like a cragged clifif. 

Time severing aught but gloom, 
Barren, dangerous, ruin and death, 
A marble slab, a silent tomb. 

Where there is none to weep. 

Nor none that would care, 
For the one that in dreamless sleep. 

One so pure and happy and fair. 
Whose smiles like new bloomed flowers. 

Was freely given to the showers. 
Not gentle mist but torrents pour. 

Which ruined the flower evermore. 



233 



POEMS AND SONGS BY LEWIS R. WHITE, 

With petals broken and head bent low, 

A shameless thing to look upon, 
Once so sweet, always smiling, 

Who did not freely enter the storm, 
But by it caught when whirling", 

O'erpowered lavished freely, 
Around which a black serpent coiling. 

With hidden fangs that poison daily. 

Ah ! how dark memories burn 

Firebrands of the past. 
Too late, too late to hope or yearn. 

O'er the things of the past ; 
But not too late to look ahead. 

Taking heed from what experience taught. 
And by the good and honest be led. 

Then let the past be forgot. 



NEVER MISSED. 



You will never miss the sunshine, 

Until the rain begins to fall, 
And you will never miss the summer 

Till the snow flakes cover all. 
We know their life-given fortunes, 

Of heaven and earth and air, 
Ofttimes by us unseen 

Yet we know they are there. 



234 



NEVER MISSED. 

You will never miss the ivy- 
Till the plant is gone, 

And you will never miss the rose, 
Until picked from her thorn. 

For the flowers have their value. 
Who by us are ne'er forgot, 

Sweet scented springs of earth, 

That are missed when they are not. 

You will never miss a kind word, 

Always given with tender grace. 
And you will never miss a true friend 

Until an enemy takes his place ; 
For friends and kind words, 

Are food substances for the soul. 
That together bind in ties of love. 

Severely felt when broken and cold. 

You will never miss a parent 

Who has reared you with care. 
True love and devotion, 

Spending life for you here or there. 
Always warning, always fretting. 

For your good and better grace; 
Never thoughtless, never forgetting, 

None can ever take their place. 

You will never miss a dear companion, 

Whether wife, sister or brother, 
Until separated by death, 

Leaving in place none or some other. 
Whose tender embrace is never missed, 

Whose cheery voice, silent and still. 
Leaves their silvery notes upon the heart, 

Which no other one can thrill. 



235 



POEMS AND SONGS BY LEWIS R. WHITE. 

You will never miss the dear ones, 

Until taken from your breast, 
Death making his revelation, 

The sweetest, purest, fairest and best, 
From the quivering frame rent asunder. 

Leaving the strickened heart bleeding, 
Hidden away in death laid under. 

The dear one seemed most needing. 



NATURE. 

How sweet are the birds. 

And how sweet are the flowers, 

Who sing in the sunshine, 
In the long summer hours. 

How sweet are the kind friends. 
Giving smiles and words of cheer, 
Unmistakable reflections given. 

Life and hope in place of doubt and fear. 

How sweet are good gifts unsought. 

Impressions made manifest. 
Sweet reminding memorials given. 

Intentions the purest and best. 

How sweet is the free gift of heaven, 
For whosoever through the cross, 

For rich or poor, great or small. 

Of all gifts the best and highest cost. 



236 



BLESSINGS IN SOLITUDE. 



BLESSINGS IN SOLITUDE. 



I love to steal awhile away, 

From strife and tumult there, 
And spend the hours of setting day, 

Free from every encumbering care. 

I love in solitude to rest, 

Its refreshing quiets to share; 
For aught seems to lull the throbbing breast, 

And still the pain that lingers there. 

I love to think of sweet memories past. 
And the future good that is in store, 

And let all my cares and sorrows pass, 
Into the land of forget fulness evermore. 

I love to take a bright review, 
Of nature's blessings to us given, 

The changes doth my strength renew, 
While here by tumult driven. 

And thus when life's day is o'er, 

May its last departing rays. 
Be calm as the impressive hour, 

And lead to one endless day. 



237 



POEMS AND SONGS BY LEWIS R. WHITE. 



WHEN THE SUN RISES. 



It is when the sun begins to rise, 

And turns the darkness into day, 
The King of light set in the skies, 

Sending forth her gleaming rays, 
Awakening all nature on slumbering earth. 

Starting anew the work of man, 
To all beings and flowers giving birth, 

Their beauty and growth to expand. 



It is when the sun begins to rise, 

Through the fleecy clouds seem driven. 
Hiding the moon and stars from our eyes. 

Far beyond this earthly ball in heaven, 
Where is all love with angels bright, 

Beyond this flowery earth remorse and strife. 
Where it needs not the sun to shed her light, 

Where God is light and all is eternal life. 

It is when the sun begins to rise. 

And in its splendor we see it there, 
To the God of love who for us made sacrifice, 

We should ofTer up fervent anxious prayer, 
Thanking him for the blessings below. 

Things that are wise, good and grand, 
And that blessings may continue to flow, 

He ever onward leads us by the hand. 



138 



IN MAINE. 



IN MAINE. 



It is a land of breezes, 
Blowing" leaves of the trees. 
In a healthy northern zone, 
Where the eagle knows his own, 
Where roves the humming bee, 
In the land of the free, 
Where falls the snow and rain, 
In the good old State of Maine. 

Where grows cedar, spruce and pine, 
On the hills steep incline. 
Where bubbling springs over flow. 
And spotted trout thrive and grow, 
Home of the moose, deer and bear, 
Woodchuck, fox, skunk and hare, 
Where squirrels to the acorns cling, 
Scaring birds on the wing. 

Where flowers grow in summer time, 
And o'er walls climbs the ivy vine, 
Where falls the sparkling dew-drops. 
Where crickets peep and grasshoppers hop, 
In those green vases flowers bloom, 
And ragged cliffs kiss the moon. 
Wherever rests the ice and snow, 
At whose base tl e rivers flow. 

There in brook, lake and pond. 

Swine, duck, fish, geese, spond, 

Where all kinds of fish and turtles dwell, 

That the fish-hawk loves so well ; 

Where nature dwells and life sustains. 

In the old pine tree State of Maine, 

Where heroes live and heroes die, 

Where waves the stars and stripes on high. 



239 



POEMS AND SONGS BY LEWIS R. WHITE, 



LOVE'S ENCHANTMENT. 



Oft when on life's rough way, 

A sunbeam is o'er me spread, 
And I clearly beheld the pasing rays, 

Of words and deeds done and said. . 
When into my life a maiden bloomed, 

A lily of love and light, 
An inspiration sprang as from the tomb, 

Giving to my soul new sight. 

How precious was the voice I heard, 

I beheld her so true and just, 
Positively sure that all I heard 

Was especially put within my trust. 
But ah ! promises, how vain 

Are thy false decisions given, 
Oft ceasing life's long pain. 

Though far from intently riven. 

The old place is still sweet to me, 

And many an evening's disclose, 
When I was young, happy and free, 

And within my clasp a blushing rose. 
In the evening as we walked out alone, 

She blushed when I called her my dear, 
I proudly accompanied her home. 

And kissed her with love sincere. 

It is oft I visited that flowery booth, 

When free from daily care, 
To feed my soul in the days of youth, 

On bright smiles and beauty rare ; 
Ask what she may, I could not refuse. 

The desires of my darling to impart. 
For if she was sad, I was sad too. 

And if she wept, it broke my heart. 



240 



Ji 



LOVES ENCHANTMENT. 

In love's game I played my hand and lost, 

And it is I that is all to blame, 
I have paid the price I know I cost, 

Of cutting cards to my shame, 
But still the same sweet face I love, 

As in happy days gone by, 
When flowers below and stars above. 

And shall love her till I die. 

L. R. W. 



IRRESISTIBLE, OR THE COBRA. 



He stood before a smoldering flame. 
Where burning heat death maintained, 

Which sent forth a soft, mellow light 
That glittered from a heap of rubbish tossed 
There, amused, reckoning not the cost, 

Nor the pitfall's downward flight. 

Nor the pitfall's downward flight, 
Inside whose slimy walls, dark as night, 

Hiding a mass of grinning skulls once fair. 
Who seem to laugh at the hand of fate, 
Whose selfish cunning did of vanity partake. 

And the cobra hummed her enchantments the-e. 

And the cobra hummed her enchantments there, 
With a dreamy, smiling, constant lair. 

From her coils like glittering silken flame, 
A beckon to all of the fair passersby, 
Caught by her apparent smiling eye, 

There held fast by an unseen chain. 



241 



POEMS AND SONGS BY LEWIS R. WHITE. 

There held fast by an unseen chain, 
Where smoulderings burst into flame, 

Sending forth perfume of dross and poison's 
distill, 
From heated breath and forked tongue, 
As her clammy coils entwine one by one, 

Slow but sure to her unyielding will. 

Slow but sure to her unyielding will, 
Helplessly shrinks submissive still. 

Humiliated with shackles of pain and shame, 
Shudders before each hissing sound, 
As stumbling on and on, he looks around 

For the place beyond from whence he came. 

For the place beyond from whence he came, 
Where no tombs or walls or smouldering flame, 

Nor silken cobra with deadly glare, 
Whose charming powers and control 
Massacre the body and torture the soul. 

That escapes her poisonous fangs in death's 
snare. 

That escapes her poisonous fangs in death's snare, 
In a land beyond interwoven coils fair, 

Unchained, free to soar away, happy at last. 
While mother earth enfolds in dust, the grave, l 
The lifeless robe of a once tortured soul. 

Released, free, who paid the price it cost. 

Released, free, who paid the price it cost. 

While she, like the dark blue ocean, tempest tossed, 

Rising, falling, raging, foaming on, 
In anger when aroused by the winged winds. 
The mariner engulfing, caring not how she begins, 

Self-destruction a dead calm after a storm. 



242 



IRRESTIBLE, OR THE COBRA. 

Self-destruction a dead calm after a storm, 
Whose peaceful quiet, gentleness in form, 

Like the evening shades of sunset, 
Speaking rest seeming from above. 
Faults, hopes, imitations of true love, 

A Judas kiss by wisdom met. 

A Judas kiss by wisdom met, 

A rugged cross where wisdom set, 

The vale that was rent in twain, 
A never dying sacrifice upon the tree. 
The slave unshackled and let free, 

While the cobra in her pit remains. 



THE ENDLESS FOREVERMORE. 



The seemingly undisturbed, measureless ocean. 

Aught but the heavy, raging winds tossed her 
crest. 
When calm seems to have no ceaseless motion, 

And nothing hid within her quiet breast, 
When the evening sunset her shadows send 

Upon her broad, expanded, oval form. 
You behold the magnificent shades she blends, 

Undescribable is the wondrous beauty cast upon 
The monarch of earth, the endless deep. 



243 



POEMS AND SONGS BY LEWIS R. WHITE. 

Unchanged through countless years of time, 

By the same elements calmed or fiercely driven, 
On which golden meteors' reflections ever shine, 

The moon, the stars, from out the blue of heaven, 
Whose radiant splendor by poets unpenned, 

Unexplainable is the continued enchantments of 
the deep, 
That fills space from the beginning to the end, 

Where transformations are and substances sleep, 
Movable, yet unmovable. rising, falling, ever the 
same. 

You see the mariners like seagulls skimming o'er 

Her trackless, briny pathway, wind driven. 
Till familiar are many faces of foreign shores, 

Held up from below, and pushed by the sounds 
of heaven. 
Numerous are her treasures hid far below. 

Far down, down below there, none can tell. 
Where shellfish abide and coral reefs grow, 

In circular cascades where mermaids dwell. 
And pearls in abundance are within. 

And all who fall within her heart's embrace, 

Forever enclosed, never to reappear, 
Leave behind no green mound, no trace, 

No token of love, no place for a falling tear. 
Whose burial place is tempest tossed. 

And whose grave is the raging brine, 
Where all substance is forever lost. 

Where no flowers grow, where entwines no 
creeping vine, 
To mark the treasured spot of loved ones covered 
o'er. 



244 



THE ENDLESS FOREVERMORE. 

And yet there is life within her measureless arms. 

Where all time is but one endless day; 
They in harmony thrive, we know not their charms. 

Their methods, habits, laws or ways. 
Dwelling among valleys and hills as we upon the 
shore, 

Who fret not in toil for their daily bread. 
Where is plenty and room enough for more. 

Ruled by one monarchical law and one head. 
The eternal, everlasting, almighty God. 

And he like the measureless, dark blue ocean, 

Is length, breadth, depth and endless evermore; 
Countless are his treasured jewels and portion 

Of which we study and are unenlightened as 
before. 
In which life and death are entirely swallowed up, 

That condemns or feeds the human soul, 
Of which we drink honey or gall from life's cup, 

Where God is all, and we have no control, 
Added and taken from, without choice, as we are 

Changed or unchanged in the endless forever- 
more. 



THE CANDLE. 



A single spark brought forth by one strong hand. 

Just a feeble light, a flickering flame, 
To set in a candlestick, darkness to command. 

Another's place filling, the same rights to main- 
tain. 
To stand erect and shine his length of time 

Amid gaities' whirl, bustle, sorrow or remorse; 
Who is a constant watcher of the scenery line. 

Wiser and brighter grows as shortness of life 
it costs. 



245 



POEMS AND SONGS BY LEWIS R. WHITE. 

But how oft when removed to some dark resource, 

How dim and undiscernible is that flickering 
spark, 
And how tall and black the wick's course, 

Going beyond the dim blaze into the dark, 
O'ershadowing it in one dense, dark cloud, 

'Til seemingly lost from the sight of view, 
When some hand shears ofT that blackened shroud, 

Once more causing the small spark to shine 
anew. 

Thus it flickers, shines forth and dims, in turns, 

First flaring out in one broad, radiant gleam, 
Then growing narrow, shoots up and smokingly 
burns. 

Sending forth a vile, obnoxious, blackened stream, 
Burns 'til the inner shred, charred and crumbling, 
falls 

And drops off, then anew commences o'er again. 
When at last the outer form decreases, grows small, 

'Til stature, vitality and mere wick is slain. 

Decreased to one feeble, nearly exhausted spark, 

Seemingly waits for some faint breath 
To blow it out and leave the lifeless mould dark. 

Ashes, back to ashes; flame, back to flame, aught 
is left 
But the memory of that once bright candle-light, 

And that soon by all is almost entirely forgot. 
More so unless the candle, by chance of some 
might. 

Has longer stood and oftener been sought. 



246 



THE CANDLE. 

Who when gone leaves behind the warm heat 

That has been sent forth from a golden blaze, 

Some cold, dark resource to warm and make sweet 

Though gone and unseen, yet lives in many ways, 

The influence of a pure, unselfish, sacrificing love 

That seems to spring forth from a commonplace 

sphere. 
Whose life ambitions are castles amounting to 
aught. 
Who only know they go as others have gone be- 
fore, 
Which was sent from and went forth to heaven 
above. 
An instructor and teacher, one of courage with- 
out fear. 

Carnal springing from carnal, spirit from spirit, 
Molded and fashioned by the same ancient plan, 

With no voice in regard to the talent we inherit. 
Lugged, tossed and taught and set adrift as men. 

Whose ways very like the waves that lash the 
shore, 



THE MERMAID. 



Who would not a mermaid be, 
Whose home is the restless sea. 
Dwelling in green coral caves. 
Gently rocked by the waves. 
By the winds tossed high and low, 
In the cradle of the deep. 
Singing joyously, faintly and slow, 
Lulling her gently to sleep. 



247 



POEMS AND SONGS DY LEWIS R. WHITE, 

Listen again to the song falling sweet, 

It is the mermaid's song with the deep, 

Enchantments of green coral caves, 

Bright pearls and green waves, 

Of that wonderland under the sea. 

Faintly and low, softly and slow. 

Sounding as the billows flow, borne on the breeze, 

The mermaid's song of the seas, soft and low. 

I would be a mermaid fair, 

Wearing pearls in my hair, 

Borne along on the billow's crest. 

With ocean gems upon my breast. 

When the winds softly sigh in mystical caves, 

Like a spirit whispering from the deep. 

Wafted o'er the rolling waves, 

Where the dolphin and sturgeon leaps. 

CHORUS. 

When stars gather o'er ocean foam, 

And the white gulls skim her crest. 

The mermaid sweetly sings in her home 

On the heaving ocean's breast. 

Singing joyously, singing soft and sweet. 

Of bright shells and green coral caves of the deep. 



OH, TEACH ME. 



If I by faith could only stand 

Upon life's stormy sea. 
Without wavering, face the stormy strand, 

I would ever walk with Thee, 
And Thy glorious truths unfold 

From the holy Bible given. 
And teach them to a sinful world. 

Guiding them to Thee in heaven. 



248 



OH, TEACH ME. 
CHORUS. 

Oh, teach me ! Teach me today, 
Teach me in the good old way. 
That I may ever happy be, 
Constantly walking with Thee. 

If Thou wouldst expand this narrow heart, 

Freeing it with mighty love divine ; 
All of Thy truths to me impart. 

That it may throughout eternity shine, 
That the world may shamefaced stare 

At the magnificence of the light. 
And see the glories pictured there. 

Forever forsaking the shades of night. 

If this mumbling, stammering tongue 

Had but a clearer speech, 
Like a silver bell when once rung. 

Would o'er hill and valley reach. 
The deaf awaken with its chimes. 

Causing those that are asleep, 
Reminding them of the harvest time, 

For the seed ^^at we sow we must reap. 



TEACARKEE CARKEE. 



As I wandered in dreamland's flowery spot, 

A place that is ever dearer to me brought. 

The home of the free, where fairies dwell, 

Where aught but peace and love wrought the spell, 

Where flowers bud and roses ever bloom, 

And gentle breezes fill the air with sweet perfume, 

Where sweet, rich fruits grow on every tree. 

In the fairyland of the Teacarkee. 



249 



POEMS AND SONGS BY LEWIS R. WHITE. 
CHORUS. 

Sweet memories of Teacarkee Carkee, Teacarkee, 

Where all nations' flags wave high and free, 

Where no beat of drums or bugle call, 

And monarchy never rises nor falls, 

Where it is ever green like the month of Spring, 

Where harpers harp and merry birds sing, 

In that fairyland so joyous and free, 

The land of the Teacarkee Carkee. 

By a crystal stream where pure waters flow, 
By a crystal stream where water lilies grow, 
On whose pearly shore the wavelets raid, 
And sands of gold tossed in the shade. 
Where the weeping willow is bending low, 
Whose drooping bow kisses the spot of long ago, 
In that fairyland of the Teacarkee. 



PHILIPPINE'S VICTORY. 



We are coming, coming home, 
The victory is won and it is all our own. 
And our hard struggle was not in vain ; 
Now we are coming home again. 



CHORUS, 



Don't you hear the fife and drum, 
And the gallant boys' footsteps' tread : 
R-rum — r-rum — rub-adub — rub-adub-dub. 
Dub-dub-dub — r-rum — r-rum — a-rub-adub-dub-dub. 



250 



PHILIPPINES \ICTORY. 

We are coming, coming home for good ; 
Faithfully we have done all we could, 
And now that the campaign is o'er, 
Rejoicing we return home once more. 

As we are coming, coming, it is clearer 
That we to our loved ones are getting nearer; 
We will shout Hurrah ! from shore to shore, 
Cheerfully we return home once more. 

And we are coming, coming with quick retreat, 
Our old homes and dear ones soon will meet. 
With joy they will greet us on our return, 
And no more their loving hearts will yearn. 

We are marching, marching on with lively tread, 
Glad we are not numbered with the dead; 
Although marked with many a scar. 
Proudly aloft we wave the stripes and stars. 

Hurrah ! Hurrah ! Hurrah ! for the dear old token 
O'er many a victory waved thy record unbroken ; 
Ever more thou shall proudly wave 
O'er the living, and the hero's grave. 



DAISIES' LAMENTATION SONG. 



It is in a green field over yonder. 

Where the daisies bud and bloom. 
Beneath the weeping willow I sit and ponder 

O'er the once fair one in the tomb. 
To me there is an inseparable environment clinging, 

And in my ears one sweet voice seems singing 
In pathetic melody soft and clear, 

And the daisies wet with dew once loved to hear. 



251 



POEMS AND SONGS BY LEWIS R. WHITE. 
CHORUS. 

Daisies, daisies, blooming here and there, 

Sending forth a perfumed, tidal wave 
O'er the one, once so bright and fair, 

And the daisies in reverence kiss her grave, 
While the evening sunset shadows throw 

Bright reflections of years long ago. 
Of blighted hopes and dreams soon lost, 

Where now daisies their fluffy heads tossed. 

Although life and love is bliss. 

And years have not changed a loyal heart, 
The world is old and all is but a mist; 

I long to be with thee, and from it depart, 
And lay me down beneath the daisies fair, 

And be with them while they bloom o'er me there, 
Where the willow waves, and the dew-drops fall, 

Where two hearts are as one, that is all. 



GOOD-BYE. 



Good-bye, darling, good-bye. 
For to the war I must hie. 
It breaks my heart to leave you so, 
But duty calls, and I must go. 

CHORUS. 

Good-bye, till I return again. 
Grieve not with bitter pain. 
I go for my country and you, dear. 
So till I return be true, dear. 



252 



GOOD-BYE. 

Wipe away those tears that freely fall, 
For now I hear the bugle call. 
I hate to leave you in bitter woe, 
But duty calls and I must go. 

Once more let me kiss your burning cheek, 
For now my heart is growing weak, 
And I must break away, that is all, 
And answer the summons the bugle calls. 

Once more let me clasp you to my breast. 
And stamp upon your cheek one fond caress. 
For I hear the summons loud and shrill ; 
My duty I must do and my place must fill. 

Good-bye, dearest, for we must be parted, 
But you must not be broken-hearted. 
For when the cruel war is o'er, 
I will return to you once more. 



THE OLD JUNIPER TREE. 



Come all ye little dears, 

Now listen unto me ; 
And lend me your ears 

While I sing of a juniper tree. 

CHORUS. 

Juniper tree, I love thee, 

Green as can be, dear to me. 

In my own country home, 
Shady old juniper tree. 



253 



POEMS AND SONGS BY LEWIS R. WHITE. 

Where in childhood I played, 

Free as the honey bee, 
Beneath the boughs' cool shade, 

Under the old juniper tree. 

I fastened a rope swing there, 

On a big limb, you see ; 
Swinging high up in the air, 

On the old juniper tree. 

And it is in after years 

That you will happy be, 
Whistling the song to you so dear 

Of the old juniper tree. 



BROWN-EYED BESS. 



When the clouds are rolling by. 

And the lark is soaring high. 

When the golden sunset kisses the dew, 

Where the roses grow I will meet you. 

CHORUS. 

When the breezes whisper through the palms, 
It is there I will clasp you in my arms. 
And the birds in the treetops are at rest. 
My darling, sweet, brown-eyed Bess. 

When the sun hides her face behind the hill, 
In the twilight's purple glow, calm and still, 
And the sparkling dew kisses the flower, 
I will meet you in that sweet, shady bower. 



254 



« 



BROWN-EYED BESS. 



And unto each other whisper words of love^ 
While the stars look down from above, 
And in Cupid's fairyland of bliss 
Seal our future plans with a kiss. 

In the moonlight appoint our wedding day, 
When the whip-poor-will is singing his lay; 
Oh, then how happy we will be 
In that little brown cottage by the sea. 



SWEET FORGET-ME-NOTS. 



Once I knew a fair maiden 
With life's sunshine laden, 
Sweet and pure from garden spot ; 
In an old-fashioned country place. 
There I beheld her charming face, 
Adorned with sweet forget-me-nots. 

CHORUS. 

With the sweet forget-me-nots. 
Sweet maiden, forget thee I cannot, 
With blushing face and golden hair. 
Each day seems nearer to me brought. 
I long to meet thee again, waiting there. 
With the sweet forget-me-nots. 

Though far I have roamed from the place 
Where first I saw thy charming face. 
Like the golden sunset earthward brought, 
Thy loveliness kindling my heart, 
Forever pierced by Cupid's dart. 
Sweet bearer of the blue forget-me-nots. 



255 



POEMS AND SONGS BY LEWIS R. WHITE. 

As time has bridged the gulf between us, 
I will return to the smiling Venus; 
Back to that dear old familiar spot 
Among the rocks and rippling rills, 
Where sings the lark and whip-poor-will. 
And the maid with the blue forget-me-nots, 

I know she is waiting there for me, 
Beneath the old chestnut tree, 
Where the moonbeams kiss the spot. 
And the maid in a flowery dell, 
The fair one that I love so well. 
Queen of the blue forget-me-nots. 



A SPRING SONG OF BIRDS. 



The whip-poor-will sings till morning, 
The thrush warbles his song in the spray, 

And you hear the moan of the turtle, 
While the lark goes soaring away. 

CHORUS. 

The sweet little birds, how they sing. 
Warbling their songs all the day long. 
In the early spring. 

You hear the caw of the blackbird, 

While the eagle's screech is heard far away, 

And the hoot of the old gray owl. 
And the robin, with plumage gay. 



256 



A SPRING SONG OF BIRDS. 

You ofttimes hear the chickadee, 
And the chirrup of the phoebe bird; 

While in the meadow sings the bobolink, 
And the cat-bird's whistle is plainly heard. 

There is the handsome little bluebird, 
And the cunning- little martin gay, 

And hopping in the fields are the sparrows. 
While the hen hawk seeks her prey. 

There is the little humming-bird 
Who gathers honey like the bee; 

And the hang bird in his nest 
On the limb of the old elm tree. 

There is the little chimney swallow. 

And the woodcock on the tree, 
And the sweet little mocking-bird 

That you and I seldom see. 



THE OLD VETERAN'S FADED COAT OF 
BLUE. 



Now come all and hear my story told. 
And listen while I say a word to you : 

Never laugh at a veteran, stooped and old, 
In his faded coat of blue. 

CHORUS. 

Be kind to the poor old veteran, 

In his faded coat of blue. 
For you have not a friend proved better 

Than he has proved himself to you. 



257 



POEMS AND SONGS BY LEWIS R. WHITE, 

For he is America's heroic son, 

Who, by his works has proved it true 

That in battle gallantly fought every one 
In his faded coat of blue. 

That carries many a cruel scar, 

Where ball and shell pierced him through, 
Who stood war's hardships' trying gar, 

In his faded coat of blue. 

Shake him kindly by the hand. 

That he may smile on you, 
For he is a living hero in the land, 

In his faded coat of blue. 

For he unflinchingly stood by his colors. 

The dear old red, the white and blue, 
Ready to die for it with many others 

That went to battle for me and you. 



NOBODY CARES. 



Will they say when I am gone. 
There is nobody who cares, 

And will they calmly look on 
And repeat, nobody cares? 



CHORUS. 



Will they say that nobody cares. 
And my name be forgotten at last. 
Only recorded as a blot in the past. 

And say that nobody cares? 



258 



NOBODY CARES. 

Will they say that I am not missed, 
And forget these old gray hairs, 

And say with a sneering hiss, 
He is gone and nobody cares? 

Will they forget the work I have done. 
Good deeds and anxious prayers. 

And say at the close of life's setting sun, 
He is gone and nobody cares? 

Will they forget to place a token, 
And the vacant, old arm chairs. 

And if my name is ever spoken. 
Say he is gone and nobody cares? 



MOUNT VERNON SCHOOL DAYS. 



Mount Vernon, it is well I remember thee, 

Wherein a spot I love so well. 
The old farmhouse in the country. 

And the red schoolhouse under the hill. 

CHORUS, 

Mount Vernon, I love thee still. 

And the dear faces which I used to see 

In the red schoolhouse under the hill. 
Mount Vernon, I do love thee. 

But, alas, farewell, the bitter pain. 
The schoolhouse is gone from the lot, 

And dear faces that we'll never meet again 
In Mount Vernon's quiet spot. 



259 



POEMS AND SONGS BY LEWIS R. WHITE. 

Some have gone to a land unknown, 
And some are scattered, far and wide ; 

All have changed and older grown, 
In their places strangers abide. 

Ah, it is well that I do recall 

When I and brother hand in hand went, 
Inside of that old schoolhouse wall, 

Separated from all I lament. 



THAT IS ALL, OR PASSED BY SONG. 



You ask what makes this change. 

Why I look sad and cold, 
And if I am not happy in these days 

As in by-gone days of old. 

CHORUS. 

Smiles with youth have fled, 

Happy days that cannot be recalled, 

One dear to me numbered with the dead, 
A broken heart, that is all. 

It is all along life's weary way, 

Without a murmur or a sigh. 
Thinking of the dear one whom some day 

I shall meet in the starry sky. 

One sweet face before me I ever see. 

One loving heart, two outstretched hands 

That were ever ready to welcome me, 
Now gone on to another land. 



260 



THAT IS ALL, OR PASSED BY SONG. 

For I am only waiting here below 

When I shall drop with the setting sun 

My work, and meet the one I love so, 

Where all is love and age and vouth are one. 



WILL YOU MEET ME. 



Meet me by the brook, where sings the whip-poor- 
will, 
Meet me in a shady nook in the evening calm and 

still, 
In the green meadows where the wavelets flow. 
Where her crystal waters murmur of days long ago, 
Enchantments of love as the stars shine bright, 
Shedding on us their rays of silver light. 

CHORUS. 

Where sings the bluebird, the thrush and quail, 
Singing, singing, joyously singing love's sweet tale. 
Where the bees and the birds, with instinct, call. 
Where sweet flowers bloom and moonbeams fall. 
Of happy days, sweet, happy days of long ago, 
Down in the meadow where the crystal waters flow. 

Say, dear, will you meet me where the waters flow. 
Where the whip-poor-will sings in the elm at the 

day's close. 
Where the moon's golden beams shine down from 

above. 
Where I whisper to you sweet words of love. 
And with all mingle our voices with one joyous cry. 
And make up for the days that have passed by? 



261 



POEMS AND SONGS BY LEWIS R. WHITE. 

I AM GOING TO WAR, MOTHER. 



I am going off to war, mother darling, 

And leave you and my dear old home behind, 
And it almost breaks my heart 
To think from you that I must part. 
Dear parents, loving, true and kind. 

CHORUS. 

Then it is off to the war, mother darling. 
For home and country my heart yearns. 

I must bravely fight for freedom's rights, 

The dear old stars and stripes, 

When victorious then I will return. 

I am going off to war, mother darling, 
Far from my dear old native shore, 

There to face the shot and shell. 

And the enemies' piercing yell, 

There to fight till the cruel war is o'er. 

I am going off to war, mother darling. 

And like brave heroes we will never yield, 
Nor from our duties ever lag. 
But stand firm for our dear old flag, 
And for it die upon the battlefield. 

I am going off to war, mother darling, 

Where I will wear the soldier's coat of blue. 
If homeward I should never come. 
You can bless God for your only son, 
Who died for his country and you. 

And as we march, march away, mother darling, 
Oft back my heart will fondly stray 

To the dear ones left far behind. 

That around it seems to entwine 
To keep my courage day by day. 



262 



BATHING IN THE SURF. 



BATHING IN THE SURF. 



I love to go in a-bathing 

Down in the seashore, 
A-bathing in the surf, 

Where the winds and waters roar, 
Splashing on the pebbly earth. 

CHORUS. 

A-bathing in the surf. 
The finest place on earth. 
Bathing in the brackish waters 
With fair sons and daughters, 
A-bathing in the surf. 

It is fun to go in a-bathing 

And float upon the tide 
As it swiftly rushes to the shore, 

And on it gently glide. 
With sparkling foam covered o'er. 

It is sport to go in a-bathing, 
And like a fish dive down below. 

Then quickly rising high out of water, 
And like a dolphin spout and blow 

In the face of some mermaid daughter. 

It is joy to go in a-bathing, 

Upon some sunny afternoon. 
And watch the heads bobbing here and there. 

With the ocean keeping tune, 
And see the smiles on faces fair. 



263 



POEMS AND SONGS BY LEWIS R. WHITE. 



I WILL BE THERE WITH A SMILE. 



Sweetheart, if you'll meet me in the moonlight alone 
On the hillside by the old sheltering stone, 
And truthfully say that you will be true, 
I will be there with a smile for you. 

CHORUS. 

Yes, I will be there with a smile for you, 
And with it give you my heart, too. 
So in the moonlight before the rising sun, 
Two hearts of bliss may be made one. 

Oh, say that you will meet me in the moonlight. 
When all is still and the stars are shining bright ; 
When the birds have sung their songs and gone to 

rest. 
And fondly clasp me to your manly breast. 

And there, beneath the moon's gentle beams. 
Together we will ponder over love's dreams, 
Plans for the future, you and me. 
In the woodbine cottage under the chestnut tree. 

Yes, for you I am anxiously waiting, 
And with love my heart is almost breaking 
For that happy, expected time to come. 
When you and I shall be made one. 



264 



ALL TOGETHER SCHOOL. 



ALL TOGETHER SCHOOL. 



Study all together, 

Study all together, 

Be sure and obey your teacher, 

All the boys, all the girls. 

Keep an honest feature 

When you are here. 

Remember what you study, 
Remember what you study. 
And do not bite your thumbs, 
All the boys, all the girls, 
But wait 'til recess comes, 
Or school lets out. 

All hands keep step. 
All hands keep step, 
When the school lets out. 
All the boys, all the girls. 
Mind what you are about 
When the teacher rings. 

Do not be late in the morning. 
Do not be late in the morning. 
But rise early with the lark, 
All the boys, all the girls, 
For it means a black mark 
On your report. 



263 



POEMS AND SONGS BY LEWIS R. WHITE. 



MY COUNTRY FLAG. 



Freedom's bells are ringing, 
And the birds they are singing 
Hurrah, hurrah, with hearts so glad 
For my dear old country flag. 

CHORUS. 

We will hoist up the star spangled banner 
And forever may it proudly wave, 

O'er the king of all nations, 
The home of the brave. 

The boys they are coming, 

I can hear the drummer drumming, 
March, march, with gallant head 

As they come with forward tread. 

With artillery a-clattering. 

And the sabres a-rattling, 
Ringing, ringing out glad hurrah 

O'er the nation near and far. 

We will stand and fall together. 
Sticking by our colors forever, 

We will ever wave them on high 
And for them live and die. 



WILL HE LOVE ME WHEN I AM OLD? 



Will he love me when I am old, 
Will he love me when I am gray, 

Will he then fondly caress me, 
And these words sweetly say? 



266 



WILL HE LOVE ME WHEN I AM OLD? 
CHORUS. 

You are my darling, sweet Magnolia, 
And every day my heart grows fonder, 

Years have not made my love grow colder, 
I love you just the same, sweet Magnolia. 

CHORUS. 

Will he love me when I am wrinkled, 
And my steps are short and slow, 

Then will he put his arm around me, 
And say as in years long ago? 

Will he love me when stooped with age, 
And the flowers of youth have fled. 

Then lovingly press me to his breast. 
Again repeat the words he said? 

Will he love me when my eyes are dim. 

And I cannot plainly see, 
Will he sit beside my arm chair, 

And truly say these words to me? 

Will he love me when I am gone, 
And with him can no longer stay. 

Will he then weep o'er my grave, 
And again these words truly say? 



A LIGHT IN THE WINDOW. 



There is a light in the window for me, 
A dear mother's face there I see, 
Who patiently watches and waits 
From early dawn 'til evening late, 
For the wandering, wayward one. 
Her roaming, wayward, sailor son. 



267 



POEMS AND SONGS T.Y LEWIS R. WHITE. 
CHORUS. 

Yes, there is a light in the window for me, 
A bright light in the window for me. 
Watching and waiting for one so dear; 
One fondly saying, "I wish you were here", 
A face so dear to me and beguiling, 
One who will meet me smiling. 

There is a light in the window for me, 
In my dear old home of the free ; 
A fond heart that is ever yearning, 
A light that is ever kept burning, 
One I would gladly meet with joy, 
The home returning of a sailor boy. 

There is a light in the window for me. 
An old gray-haired mother I long to see, 
Who watches and waits and fears 
Through weeks and months and years. 
With a light in the window still burning, 
For a sailor boy's home returning. 

There is a light in the window for me, 

One who offers up prayers, God, unto Thee 

For my safety and keeping. 

One who watching and weeping, 

A mother's pleasure and a mother's joy 

Is her wandering, wayward, boy, 



NELLIE VAIL. 



It was on a bright starry night. 

And the birds sang love's sweet tale ; 

O'er the hills shone the moon's golden light, 
There I met my sweet Nellie Vail. 



26S 



NELLIE VAIL. 



CHORUS. 



Sweet blue-eyed Nellie, 

Dear golden-haired Nellie, 
Bright, charming Nellie, 

My own sweet Nellie Vail. 

And beneath the wide spreading farm, 

Where the wildflowers wave. 
It was there that we walked arm in arm, 

And she her promise to me gave. 

Ofttimes by the brook we used to wander, 

And from the hedge pick the rose. 
O'er love's sweet dreams we pondered 

In the sunset's radiant glow. 

When her golden rays sank in the west, 

And in the evening's purple glow. 
She would say, "You know I love you best", 

In the happy days of long ago. 

But now she is sleeping in that low green tent. 
And the wild rose kisses the little marble token, 

While I, o'er that little mossy mound lament. 
With a tearful eye and a heart that is broken. 

CHORUS. 

Mourn the loss of sweet Nellie Vail, 
For now she is sleeping in the valley. 

Where sings the whip-poor-will and quail, 
And a little white slab marks the spot 

That tells the only tale. 



269 



POEMS AND SONGS BY LEWIS R. WHITE. 



SWEET BONNIE LASSIE. 



When the white clouds are drifting by, 
And the night lark is soaring on high, 
When the golden sunset kisses the dew, 
I will meet you where the rosebuds grow. 

CHORUS. 

When the breezes whisper through the palms, 
There I will clasp you in my arms. 
And the birds in the treetops are at rest, 
Sweet, bonnie lassie. I love 3^ou best. 

When the sun hides behind the hill, 
In the twilight's purple glow, calm and still. 
And the sparkling dew kisses the flower, 
I will meet you in that sweet, shady bower. 

And unto each other whisper words of love. 
While the stars look down from above, 
And in Cupid's fairyland of bliss 
Seal all future plans with a kiss. 



AUGUSTA CITY. 



Augusta! it is of thee I sing, 

Thy remembrance joyous thoughts bring 

Of happy days among thy bowers spent. 
My dear old home on the Kennebec shore, 
Whose sparkling waters flow ever on as before, 

On whose shores I ofttimes wandering went. 



270, 



AUGUSTA CITY. 
CHORUS. 

Augusta, Augusta, the capital of Maine ! 
In thee my home shall ever remain, 

On the river Kennebec, that passes thee by, 
With her wide, roomy streets, trees and flov^ers 
That decorate mansions and tow^ers, 

Whose golden vanes seem to kiss the sky. 

Augusta, I love thee still, 

Of thee my heart w^ith rapture thrills, 

My beloved dear old Northern home. 
With all of her rocks and hills, 
And her sparkling rivers and rills, 

O'er which I have often roamed. 

Augusta, to me thou art dear. 

With all of thy scenes and nature to cheer. 

And education with true, generous art, 
Thy refined taste so plain to discern, 
With all the industry and schools to learn. 

The pride of the nation's heart, 

Augusta, may the eagle ever o'er thee soar. 
And the stars and stripes wave evermore, 

And from the state house on yonder height, 
Where peace shall dwell and quiet reign. 
Evermore send forth from windowpane 

Shining rays through years' passing flight. 



WAITING FOR ME. 



One sweet face at the window, 
One sweet face watching for me. 
One sweet smile of welcome for me 
When I return, my darling, to thee. 



271 



POEMS AND SONGS BY LEWIS R. WHITE. 
CHORUS. 

Waiting- and watching o'er the ocean, 
Like the billows my heart is in motion, 
My blue-eyed darling to see, 
Who is waiting and watching for me. 

One little locket to me she gave, 
And o'er my heart I wear the token 
Of one sweet face often spoken. 
Waiting with a heart near broken. 

It was by the seashore we stood 
When her little hand placed it there, 
In it her picture, sweet and fair, 
And a lock of sunshine golden hair. 

In the moonlight appoint our wedding-day, 
When the whip-poor-will is singing his lay. 
Oh, how happy we will be 
In that little cottage by the sea. 



WHITE ROSE OF AUTUMN. 



White rose of autumn. 
Who is ever dear to me. 

Thy memory never forgotten, 
I am longing to be with thee. 

CHORUS. 

White rose of autumn, 
I weep for thee alone ; 

Thy memory ne'er forgotten, 
White rose, my own. 

272 



li 



WHITE ROSE OF AUTUMN'. 

My heart is sad and lonely, 
None can fill thy place, 

For I love thee only, 

You are ever before my face. 

I cannot check the tears 

That so freely downward flow. 
Without you days like years, 

Seem to linger so. 

I wait for the harvest garden. 
Who gathereth the grain. 

For the white rose, my darling, 
To be separated never again. 



SWEET MEMORY. 



A sailor boy left his native home 

To sail o'er the dark blue sea, 
For his mother died and left him alone, 
With her good advice stored in his heart, 

A sad, sweet memory. 

CHORUS. 

Sweet memory, sweet memory. 

Of a fond mother's never dying love. 
To guide him o'er the raging sea. 
Where whitecaps rule and hurricanes roar, 
And watch him from the clouds above. 

For he laid away her silent form 

In that low green tent, where all take part, 

And he alone must breast life's storm. 

Along the rugged coast of time. 

With her sweet smile stamped upon his heart. 



273 



POEMS AND SONGS BY LEWIS R. WHITE. 

And as he sailed away o'er the foaming brine, 

Where loud the hurricanes do roar, 
He thought of the one whose name enshrined 
On the marble of the low green mound 

Far inland on his own native shore. 

When the storms raged and the billows rolled, 

And the lightnings flashed from above, 
That same sweet voice seemed to whisper to his soul 
The same good advice as in days of the past, 
Words of truth, peace and love. 



DEAR OLD KILLARNEY. 



It was in me dear old Isle Killarney, 
VVhair me and me biddy learned the blarney, 
Thair I swung me pick and spade dailey, 
'^n me bite of potatoes, sweet and mealey, 
VVhair the grane shamrock grows. 

CHORUS. 

^'l^air airly en Saint Patrick's day in the morning, 

The biddies and barnies all take warning. 

Rigged up in foine toggery so clane and dacent, 

With hearts that never fear and smiles so pleasant, 

"'"be finest soights that iver was seen, 

In me dear old Isle Killarney, 

\\'hair is always the wearing of the grane. 



274 



DEAR OLD KILLARNEY. 

It was thair on that same day ivery year, 

Me and me biddy, clane and dacent, niver fear, 

'Twas thair swate Biddy Flannigan so plump and 

cool, 
Took liking for nieself, Patrick O'Tool, 
And may the swate Virgin iver bless the old sod 
Whair the shamrock grows in old Killarney, 
The first place our feet ever trod. 

And it is every day as I swing the pick and hoe, 

I will sing of old Killarney, whairiver I go, 

For it cheers me heart as I sing it over dailey. 

And makes me feel more like swinging the shillalah 

With me old chums Mike Grady and Billy O'Kean, 

In me dear old Isle Killarney, 

Whair the shamrock grows grane. 



JACK HUNTING A WIFE. 



Oh, Jack, he being tired of a bachelor's life, 
Went a-sailing o'er the ocean to get him a wife. 
So he hove up his anchor and got under way, 
And started a-cruising that very same day. 

CHORUS. 

Boys, haul away, boys haul away, haul, I say. 
As we go sailing o'er the sea far away. 
So shake out your sails and haul in the slack, 
I will have me a wife before I get back. 

His ship had not made but forty knots or so. 
Before the whitecaps arose and the wind commenced 

to blow. 
It whistled and howled, ripped and tore, 
A regular blizzard, right ofif a lee shore. 



275 



POEMS AND SONGS BY LEWIS R. WHITE. 

Forty-eight hours she took it good and sweet, 
Right before a gale, we could not start a sheet, 
While o'er the rollers like a top she did spin, 
The shrouds piccolos whistled in the wind. 

Every man aboard of her a hand had to lend. 
For half of the time she was on her beam's end. 
The sails blew away with a rip and a crash, 
While the sea swept her decks with a splash. 

She pitched and rolled, groaned and squeaked. 
We had to man the pumps, for she commenced to 

leak. 
"All hands on deck," Captain Jack did cry, 
As at another dark cloud he cast his weather eye. 

As darkness set in, there came another blast, 
And over the bulwarks went the mainmast. 
It went with a snap, a splash and a jar. 
And the captain roared like thunder, "Cut away the 
spar." 

It was all they could do to keep her head on. 
With her sails blown and her mainmast gone, 
The waves stove in the forecastle door, 
And washed everything overboard with a roar. 

The captain lost his course in the fog and dark. 
And did not see dead ahead a landmark, 
Until on the beach grated her keel. 
Where she anchored in an old cornfield. 

The next morning when they got wrung out, 
The storm was gone and the sun shone out. 
Jack was looking to see where she laid, 
And he spied in the cornfield a pretty, fair maid. 



276 



I 



JACK HUNTING A WIFE. 

He quickly threw her his heaving line, 
And brought her alongside the very first time. 
Says he, "Now, I have a messmate and fine weather, 
We will join hands and sail life's voyage together." 

They took the old hull for a mansion fair. 
There they were happy raising children with care, 
That had red cheeks and were smart as steel. 
That always lived in the old cornfield. 



DOES HE EVER THINK OF ME? 



Does he ever think of me. 
The one that loves him dear. 

And the little children three. 
That were to him so near? 

CHORUS. 

For he is sailing over the sea. 

In foreign lands to roam. 
Oh, does he ever think of me. 

And when will he come home? 

Does he ever think of me 

When the stormy wind does blow, 
And he far out over the sea. 

And the dear ones that love him so? 

Does he ever think of me 
When he lies down to rest. 

And the dear ones smiling with glee, 
That say, "Papa, you love me best?" 



277 



POEMS AND SONGS BY LEWIS R. WHITE. 

Does he ever think of me, 

The one he promised never to forsake? 
Oh, how happy we used to be 

In the little cottage by the lake. 

Does he ever think of me 

When stormy is the weather, 

When by the fireside we used to be, 
Singing and laughing together? 

Does he ever think of me 

When the foaming billows roar. 

And would he not like to see 

The dear ones on the old lake shore? 



EVERYWHERE. 



Oh, the sun shines fair 
Over hill and valley, 
Giving life and gladness 
Everywhere. 

CHORUS, 

Shine on, bright sun. 
Giving life and sweetness 
To everyone. 

The birds of the air 
Like the bright sunshine. 
Singing their sweet songs 
Everywhere. 



27S 



EVERYWHERE. 



The flowers that sparkle in the dew 
With all colors, bright and fair, 
Sending- their sweet perfume 
Everywhere. 



THREE LITTLE ANGELS. 



Three little angels in heaven 

Are there waiting for me. 

Their sweet little spirits I shall see 

When from this world I am free. 

CHORUS. 

Yes, oh, yes, three little angels, 
Three little angels are in heaven 
Waiting for me. 

Three little arms will enclose my neck, 
Three bright little forms I shall see. 
They are in that paradise of God, 
Waiting for me. 

Three little voices I shall hear, 
Singing, "Papa, I am glad you to see, 
I know that you loved me, dear, 
And I have waited for thee." 

Three pair of bright little eyes 
That used to come sparkling with glee. 
Are far up in the starry skies. 
Waiting in heaven for me. 



279 



POEMS AND SONGS BY LEWIS R. WHITE. 

I shall see and hear pattering feet 
That used to bring forms to my knee, 
And we'll live in a mansion of God, 
Where they are waiting for me. 



A LOVER'S LOSS. 



I have no sweetheart, now, I am weeping, 

For she has left me all alone, 
That now in the churchyard is sleeping, 

The dear one I called my own. 

CHORUS. 

Yes, darling, for you I am weeping, 
Your bright smiles no more I will see, 

For no more you are in my keeping, 
And can never again smile on me. 

My heart is filled with sorrow since parting, 
And this world for me is dark and drear, 

For her loss I am broken-hearted, 
While on her grave I shed a tear. 

For beside a marble slab I am kneeling, 

While beneath that mossy tent silently rests, 

Tears down my cheeks are streaming 
For the loss of the one I loved best. 

There is one thought that stills the pain, 
While for me she waits on the other shore, 

That we some day shall meet again 

Where parting and separation is no more. 



280 



1 AM COMING, SWEETHEART. 



I AM COMING, SWEETHEART. 



I am all alone in a log shack, 

Thinking, sweetheart dear, of you 

And the happy days seem so long ago, 

For my heart is longing to come back. 
And well I know that you will prove true. 

For, my darling sweetheart, I do love you so. 

CHORUS. 

Coming, coming, yes, I am coming; 

Cheer up, cheer up, sweetheart, I will come; 
And in each other we will hope and trust, 

While I am among the hills digging dust 
For to make a cosy place when I get home. 

Your portrait, which to me you gave, 
I am still wearing next to my heart. 

And it is my messmate, night and day. 

For when I am discouraged it makes me brave, 
And I look at the one from me so far apart, 

Thinking that I will no longer stay. 

I am getting tired of the mining life. 
And of digging gold so far from home, 

For now I have got enough in my sack 

To last us, sweetheart, both for life, 

And we can settle down, no more to roam. 

When from the hills I come back. 



281 



POEMS AND SONGS BY LEWIS R. WHITE. 



THE WHITE-WINGED GENEVA. 



It was a young captain who left his bride 
To seek his fortune on the flowing tide, 
Parting with a farewell kiss, good-bye, 
To sail the Geneva anchored nearby. 

CHORUS. 

The white-winged Geneva, so staunch and true, 
The white-winged Geneva, on the ocean blue, 
Sailing, sailing, tossing low and high. 
Like a sea gull o'er the billows fly. 

As she waved him a last farewell, 

Her young heart in tears of sorrow fell. 

When she saw the white wings ofif shoreward flight 

On the Geneva sail out of sight. 

Months and years passed since that day 
They parted and he from her sailed away, 
But still with hope her heart yearns 
That on the Geneva he will return. 

Watching and waiting by the seashore. 

Hoping that her loved one will return once more, 

And that he is homeward bound, 

Vainly watching the Geneva that went down. 



DEAR OLD HOME. 



To go away I was inclined, 

O'er some foreign place to roam, 
And so I parted from my home, 

Leaving parents and all behind. 



282 



DEAR OLD HOME. 



CHORUS. 



Dear old home of my childhood, 
Dear old home of my youth, 
Dear old home of the truth, 

Bright happy home in the wildwood. 

Years have gone since I went away, 
Yet I long to see once more 
The familiar faces at the door 

Where I, as a child, once played. 

Those dear faces I will see no more. 
And the house, too, has rotted down, 
Lies in ruins on the ground. 

That I long to see as of yore. 

My wandering heart looks back again 
O'er days of youth and childhood, 
A flowery nook in the wildwood 

Filling my heart with regret and pain. 



THE BRIDEGROOM'S GIFT. 



The bridegroom comes 

With his gift of gold, 
An only son, 

To his bride of old. 
While she idly stands. 

With downcast head. 
He stretches out his hands. 

And these words he said. 

283 



POEMS AND SONGS BY LEWIS R. WHITE. 
CHORUS. 

Oh, take this gift of mine, 

I give it all to thee. 
Let it around your heart entwine, 

And come along with me. 

And as she in review 

Seems to unheeding stand, 
Thinking of what to do, 

And he patiently commands. 
With a heart ever true, 

Only love to unfold. 
Take this gift I give to you, 

A priceless gift of old. 

Will his patience ever last, 

And soon will she be ready, 
When he will cease to cast 

The gift and hold it steady? 
Will the bride reverence bestow, 

Accept and return the same? 
In heaven above or earth below. 

Praise his holy name. 



PATRIOTIC AMERICAN LAD. 



I am a true American lad, 

And I love my country, too. 
I am always jolly and never sad. 

And I love to sing of the red, white and blue. 



284 



PATRIOTIC AMERICAN LAD, 



CHORUS. 



Hurrah for the star spangled banner, 
Over the Union long may it wave. 

Heigho, heigho, 

For the star spangled banner. | 

It is freedom's happy land, 

That my forefathers fought to save, 

And God had blest those heroic hands 
That now lie silent in a soldier's grave. 

They fought like brave heroes. 

Their freedom and life to gain. 
Conquering all of their bitter foes 

That sailed over the foaming main. 

Oh, how freedom's bells did ring, 
And how the people did loudly cheer, 

And one happy song did sing, 

That echoed o'er the world, far and near. 

Three cheers for the memorial day, 

The grand old Fourth of July. 
All true Americans are joyous and gay 

When that victorious day draws nigh. 



BIRD SONG. 



In the early spring come the birds, 

With their plaintive notes, 
And we understand their noteful words 

That no pen ever wrote. 



285 



POEMS AND SONGS BY LEWIS R. WHITE, 

They are glad the winter winds are gone, 

When they can build nests and trill their lay, 

And in early dawn gather bugs and worms, 
Singing sweet carols all the summer day. 

CHORUS. 

Sweet, sweet little birds, 

Sing, sing, all day long, how they sing 
Their chorus of songs 

In the early spring! 

Bringing joy and gladness. 

Always doing us good, 
Gathering in all our pests, 

Using them for food. 



I WANT TO GO HOME. 



In the bright, warm spring, 
When the merry birds sing. 

And the bees are filling their comb. 
To me a sweet memory brings 

Of my dear old home, sweet home. 

CHORUS. 

I want to go home, 

Love, please take me home 

To my dear old home 

Where I used to roam, in childhood free, 

The dearest place on earth to me. 



286 



li 



I WANT TO GO HOME. 



For my heart is ever pining, 

Where the roses and myrtle are twining. 

And the green grass grows in the warm spring. 
When the apple trees are in full bloom. 

To me a cherished memory closer clings. 

Where there is a light ever burning, 

And dear ones watching for my returning. 

Whose scattered locks are white as snow. 
A kind father and fond mother. 

Whose aged forms are bending low. 



THE BITTER SWEET. 



My heart is sad as I sit alone, 

With only one that stands by my side. 

My youth is past, I am older grown, 

With broken heart I wait life's ebbing tide. 

All have flown that once were dear. 

The smiling ones who gathered by my side, 

Filling my soul with gladsome cheer, 
That were my joy and my pride. 

CHORUS. 

All alone, all alone, in life's frail canoe. 

A boyish pilot o'er life's stormy stream. 
His love will guide me safely through 

When all others have forsaken the old man. 



287 



POEMS AND SONGS BY LEWIS R. WHITE. 

Who with a smile picks up my fallen cane, 
And tries in vain my broken heart to cheer, 

For aught can heal a gap rent by pain 
That has been opened by those once dear. 

Life is a tree that yields the bitter sweet, 
Sorrows and blessings mixed together, 

Like a cool breeze driving away the heat. 
Rolling on and on forever. 



SAFE HARBOR. 



Now, come, all ye bold seamen. 

And listen unto me. 
Who are tired of the breakers 

And roaming o'er the stormy sea. 

CHORUS. 

Yonder is a green harbor, 

Where shines a beacon light; 

A safe anchorage for sailors 
In a dark and stormy night. 

Where there is a bright mansion 

Awaiting for thee there, 
Whose green ivy walls 

Stand high up in the air. 

Far inland, o'er the lea, 

From the breakers a safe retreat, 
Where sea and hurricanes never roar, 

And stormy winds never beat. 



288 



SAFE HARBOR. 

On whose glittering, pearly shore, 

With a harbor of the best, 
Where all the weary seamen 

In safe anchorage can rest. 

And there they will gently float 

Upon that crystal sheet, 
Anchored to the solid rock 

That never drifts and storms never beat. 

4 
In that ever green crystal harbor, 

Wherever shines a beacon light, 
There is always one bright day, 

And there never is a dark night. 



THE PILGRIM. 



I am a Christian pilgrim. 

On my journey home, 
There to join the redeemed 

With the blest around the throne. 
Singing praises forevermore, 

Of truth and love divine. 
I soon will leave this dark shore 

And all its cares behind. 

CHORUS. 

Singing, singing, merrily singing. 
Hallelujah, as I onward roam, 

Singing, singing, merrily singing. 
Glory, hallelujah, I am going home. 



289 



POEMS AND SONGS BY LEWIS R. WHITE. 

I am a Christian pilgrim, 

Bound for that land of light, 
Free from the snares of sin, 

A mansion ever shining bright, 
A palace not made with hands, 

That gleams far o'er the way. 
I will join that happy band, 

Praises sing where all is day. 

I am a Christian pilgrim. 

Bound for that mansion fair 
Where dear friends await within, 

Are glad to welcome me there. 
Evermore to reign with Him 

In the paradise redeemed 
That was lost through sin, 

Once on earth brightly gleamed. 



JACK'S LAST VOYAGE. 



There thirty long years 

I have sailed over the ocean. 
Spending my money for beers. 

And rambling has been my portion. 
Now homeward I will cross the seas o'er, 

Settle myself down in life, 
And roam over the seas no more, 

And ever happy be in my life. 



290 



JACKS LAST VOYAGE. 



CHORUS. 



So it is blow, ye gentle winds, 

And blow ye winds, heigho, 
Square away the yards, boys, 

And blow, blow, blow. 

Oh, make your anchor fast. 

And hoist away on the sail. 
The wind is blowing a fair blast, 

And we are on the homeward trail. 
Be sure and straighten out the chains 

And put the Norman in, you know. 
Give her twenty fathom range. 

And look out for the kinks, also. 

She is well on her course. 

Sailing far from a foreign shore, 
And we will soon be across. 

For she is making twenty knots or more. 
She is sharp, forward and aft, 

And broad across the beam, 
And the finest sailing craft 

That ever crossed the gulf stream. 

So hoist away the fore topsail, 

And the fore tack also. 
For the wind is blowing a gale, 

As homeward over the ocean we go. 
Oh, haul, haul together. 

Haul away, haul, boys, haul ; 
Never mind the cold, stormy weather, 

But look out for the squall. 



291 



POEMS AND SONGS BY LEWIS R. WHITE. 

On the compass keep your eye, 

And keep her two points on, 
For the whitecaps are rolling- by, 

As homeward she swiftly sails on. 
Keep your eye out for landmarks. 

And for a bright harbor light, 
For far are gleaming her bright sparks 

In a dark and stormy night. 

Hard down with the wheel. 

And heave up in the wind, 
For yonder is a green field, 

And the harbor is just around the bend. 
Haul down the sails, 

And let the anchor go, 
With her twenty fathom range, 

Down to the bottom below. 

Lower away the yard boat. 
And we will pull for the shore. 

And we will let the bark float, 
A wild rover I will be no more. 



OH, GIVE ME THE WATERS. 



Oh, give me the waters that are pure. 
Waters that my thirst will satisfy. 

Waters whose nourishing charms endure, 
That hath an everlasting tie. 

Oh, give me the waters that are cool, 

Waters that will quench a burning plain, 

Waters that ripple from the pool, 
Whose taste is sweet, ever the same. 



292 



OH, GIVE ME THE WATERS. 

Oh, give me the waters that are sweet, 
Waters that will o'er me constant roll, 

Waters that subdue the smoke and heat, 
That leave their sweetness on the soul. 

Oh, give me the waters that are deep, 
Waters with depth far below, 

Waters that will change me complete, 
And let them o'er me gently flow. 

Oh, give me the waters of love. 
Waters free from the taste of gall. 

Waters that flow from heaven above, 
The sweetest and purest of them all. 

Oh, give me the waters that angels drink, 
Waters from the well of love divine. 

Waters from whose crystal brink 

Will quench this burning soul of mine. 

CHORUS. 

Bright sparkling waters, 

Waters from heaven above, 
Pure, sweet, crystal waters. 

Waters, waters of love. 



AMERICA'S FLAG. 



Hurrah for the flag, the dear old flag! 

Star spangled banner, red, white and blue, 
America's proud standard ever, 

In a land ever staunch and true. 



293 



POEMS AND SONGS BY LEWIS R. WHITE. 

Flag of our pilgrim fathers, 
Flag of justice, truth and right. 

One that heroes died to gain, 

Flag of freedom's prevailing right. 

May the glory in her colors 

Forever swing and flutter in the wind. 
And all nations in reverence bow before her 

For what she is and what she has been. 

CHORUS. 

Hurrah, hurrah ; hip, hip, hurrah, forever ! 

May loudly screech the eagle, 
Her defeat shall be no, no, no, never. 

For we will die for our gallant standard. 



SCHOOL SONG. 



There are bluebirds in the meadow, 

And bull frogs in the pool. 
And the sun a-casting shadows 

As the children return from school. 

There are butterflies upon the roses 
That grow in the crock upon the stool 

On which the ant reposes, 

As the children return from school. 

There are robins singing in the trees. 
Among the branches, soft and cool. 

And the martins soaring in the breeze, 
As the children return from school. 



294 



SCHOOL SONG. 



I hear many merry voices 

Repeating the golden rule, 
And every hour is a chorus of noises, 

When the children return from school. 



THE PRODIGAL SON. 



I have wandered far from home 

In a country desolate and bare, 
Now my folly is to me ever shown, 

I long to be free from the snare ; 
While yet so far away, 

My aching heart fondly yearns 
To return home some day. 

They will be glad of my return. 

CHORUS. 

I am going home no more to roam, 
Where there is enough and to spare, 

In that bright, happy home 
Far, far away, over there. 

For my father will forgiving be. 

For the many wrongs I have done. 
And will be ever ready to receive me. 

His long-lost, erring, prodigal son. 
He will meet me on the way 

With a spotless robe of white, 
And will guide me day by day 

To keep my erring footsteps aright. 



295 



POEMS AND SONGS BY LEWIS R. WHITE. 

I know the past they are not forgetting 

For me when I get there, 
And happy will be the sitting 

With the loved ones bright and fair. 
There will be harpers harping, 

Glory, Hallelujah, every one. 
Tunes of homeward marching. 

Rejoicing o'er the prodigal son. 



THE LION'S DEN. 



We should be like Daniel in the den. 
Unshaken, look up from whence we came 

Beyond the craggy walls of time. 
And let our faith ever constant be. 
Although hemmed in, yet we are free, 

Our hearts rejoice with love sublime. 

CHORUS. 

For the lions of sin cannot hurt us 
When the angels are watching o'er us. 
Altogether, rejoicing, singing a chorus, 
Praise the Lord, oh, glory, hallelujah! 

Towards him we love we have no fear, 
For he ever protects his loved ones dear. 

Shielding them from danger and harm, 
Tightly closing the jaws of sin, 
While we are placed there within, 

Shielded by his protecting arm. 



296 



i 



THE lion's den. 

When we are in danger's den, 
He is sure to be with us then ; 

Around us his strong arms will rest 
And lift us free from the mire 
To that bright world up higher, 

Evermore to reign with the blest. 

So we will watch and pray, 
Throughout this short earthly day, 

While we remain here below. 
Then when the angel shall come. 
He will say to us, well done, 

On us the blessings of the redeemed bestow. 



PARADISE. 



As I look away across the sea. 
In the beautiful land of the free, 

A land of honey and spice. 
On an ever green crystal beach, 
Where the storms never reach, 

In the beautiful land of paradise. 

CHORUS. 

Oh, paradise, golden paradise, 
That happy land of the free. 
Where dear ones are waiting for me 
In bright, sunny paradise. 

Where they ride in chariots of gold. 
Where there is a joy untold 

That will all our wants suffice. 
When we leave this land behind, 
Loving arms will around us entwine 

In the beautiful land of paradise. 



297 



POEMS AND SONGS BY LEWIS R. WHITE. 

Where all is one bright day, 
And on many harps they play, 

Far from this land of vice, 
On whose glittering, gorgeous streets 
You will see pattering feet 
In the beautiful land of paradise. 

Where troubles are never known, 
Around that joyous throne. 

Where all are bound in love's ties. 
Where chosen ones never part. 
But walk together, hand and heart, 

In the beautiful land of paradise. 



I AM GOING AWAY. 



I am soon going far away 

To a beautiful, sunny clime. 
And there I shall ever stay. 

Where the sun forever shines. 
With those gone on before 

That are waiting there for me, 
On that ever shining shore. 

With whom I long to be. 

CHORUS. 

In that bright, shining clime, 
One endless, happy day; 

Some day, some time, 
I am going far away. 



298 



I AM GOING AWAY. 

Where the tree of life is in bloom, 

And the roses bloom along the shore, 
Where many harps are in tune, 

Praises singing forevermore. 
Many, many harps playing, 

In the good old-fashioned way. 
Many, many voices singing 

Sweet melodies, one endless, happy day. 

Where hardships are forgot. 

And sorrows are never known, 
In that joyous, heavenly spot 

Where the king sits on his throne, 
I will join that happy band 

And wear a robe of white, 
In that bright, sunny land 

Where there is no night. 

On that ever green shore, 

Along whose glittering strand 
I will roam with those of yore, 

And forever walk, hand in hand, 
As in days long gone by. 

And clasp dear ones to my breast. 
Never more a parting sigh 

To disturb my happy rest. 



NELLIE GRAY (Parody). 



Our dear ones that could not longer stay, 
But who from us have been taken away. 

That have gone on to the other shore, 
And they will not long be waiting. 
For the time will soon pass away. 

We shall soon be with them evermore. 



299 



POEMS AND SONGS BY LEWIS R. WHITE. 
CHORUS. 

So we will watch and we shall pray, 
While he leads us all the way, 

And we will never be disheartened any more. 
For we soon will hear his gentle voice calling 
The dear ones that love him so, 

On the ever shining, happy shore. 

In the days of old unto us he did say, 
Turn ye from your sins and come away. 

And I will forgive you ; go and sin no more. 
When you are on the faith relying, 
You will not be sorrowing nor sighing, 

But in his love will be happy evermore. 

So we will watch in that good old way 
For the coming of that bright, happy day 

When we shall not be parted any more. 
Where we shall meet our dear Savior, 
And unto us we shall hear him say. 

Enter ye in at the open door. 



THE AMERICAN BOYS IN BLUE. 



Oh, the star spangled banner 
That waves over me and you 

Has been fought and died for 
By the American boys in blue. 

CHORUS. 

Where the cannon loud did rattle, 
And the bullets swiftly fly. 

And the silver bugle sounded 
To drown that dismal cry. 



300 



THE AMERICAN IJOVS IN BLUE. 

Oh, they marched away to battle, 
To die upon the battlefield, 

Where they faced shot and shell, 
And the enemies' piercing steel. 

Marching- over rocks and mountains. 
Where they could not keep in line. 

Leaving dear ones, mothers and wives 
To weep for them far. far behind. 

They shed their blood for us all. 

And their country, too, 
Fighting for their life and liberty, 

The brave American boys in blue. 

DAYS THAT WILL NEVER RETURN. 



DAYS THAT WILL NEVER RETURN. 



Will those golden days ever return again, 
Those days of youth once passed by? 

Sweet memories on my heart remain, 
Happy days of you and L 

CHORUS. 

No, they will never return, no, never, 
Golden days that I love so well ; 

They are gone, gone, gone forever, 
Sweet jewels of long ago. 

Though I watch the sun's rising flame 
With anxious heart, longing sigh. 

Those sunny days will never come again, 
Sunny days once passed by. 



301 



POEMS AND SONGS BY LEWIS R. WHITE. 

They are like the beams earthward cast, 

Its golden light shining ever, 
Bright reflections of the past, 

That no dark night can sever. 

Like the sun's red and golden glow, 

As it slowly drops o'er the western hills. 

Days, happy days of long ago. 

Whose sweet memories linger still. 



SWEET KATIE, I DO LOVE THEE. 



I am thinking of thee, sweetheart, 
Who was once so dear to me. 

But another won thy heart. 

Still, sweet Katie, I do love thee. 

CHORUS. 

Sweet Katie, dear Katie, 

Once the joy of my heart and eye; 
I cannot forget thee, fair Katie, 

And shall love thee till I die. 

I fondly keep thy memory. 
Thy sweet face yet I can see ; 

That will stay with me forever, 
Still, sweet Katie, I do love thee. 

Ofttimes in the evening's purple glow, 
I think of our rambles, you and me. 

In the good old times of long ago. 
Still, sweet Katie, I do love thee. 



S02 



SWEET KATIE, I DO LOVE THEE. 

O'er my past in review I fall, 
It was my fault, now I see, 

That I lost your heart, I see it all. 
Still, sweet Katie, I do love thee. 

Though with age you grow old. 
And gray and dim is the eye. 

Yet my heart will never grow cold ; 
I shall love thee till I die. 



THE MURMURING SEASHELL. 



It was alone I wandered by the seashore, 
Listening to the murmur of the shell, 

Mourning the loss of the one I adored, 
The one I loved so well. 

CHORUS. 

I love to listen to the murmur of the shell. 

Its words of consolation seem to repeat 
The murmuring roar of the seashell. 

That echoes back from the deep. 

I understand the murmurings so well. 

For from its pearly throat it seems to say, 

He will return to thee, fair May-bell, 
No more from thee to sail away. 

It seems to calm the bosom of the deep, 
And bids my aching heart keep still. 

While the murmuring shell these words repeat, 
Soon will return your blue-eyed Will. 



303 



POEMS AND SONGS BY LEWIS R. WHITE, 

For the sailor boy my heart is breaking, 

As my throbbing" breast like the ocean heaves a 
sigh; 

For thy return I am patiently waiting, 
While the shell murmurs, He is close by. 



FROG SONG. 



The frogs they croak in the bogs and ponds, 
From twilight 'til break of dawn ; 
Croak, croak, all night long, 
In summer and in spring. 

CHORUS. 

They sing bo-peep in bogs and ponds, 
Ward, ward, ward, loud and strong. 
Bo-peep, bo-peep, all night long. 
The frog, the frog, the frog, he loves the storm. 

The frogs they croak in the bogs and ponds. 
Glad to see the pouring rain storm, 
And sorry when the rain is gone, 
In summer and in spring. 

The frogs they croak in bogs and ponds, 
Hopping over the reeds and thorns ; 
In the water they grow and spawn, 
In summer and in spring. 

The frogs they croak in the bogs and ponds, 
Singing all summer 'til winter storm. 
Croaking bo-peep all summer long, 
In summer and in spring. 

304 



WAITING FOR THE BONNIE SAILOR BOY. 

WAITING FOR THE BONNIE SAILOR BOY. 



My bonnie, bold sailor boy 

Has g-one away o'er the blue sea, 
And left me far, far behind, 

For he was all this world to me, 
In dear old Scotland's sunny clime. 

CHORUS. 

I am waiting, waiting, waiting, 

Patiently waiting his home returning, 

Sighing, sighing, sighing, sighing. 
For him my heart is ever yearning, 

His home return again. 

May peacefully roll the blue ocean. 

And may the storm king stay his hand, 

While my bonnie boy is on his way 
Back to his own dear native land, 

Where the sun shines all the day. 

Now, come blow, ye gentle winds. 

O'er the dark blue ocean. 
And waft his bark safely o'er. 

Gently onward keep her in motion 
Back to his own dear native shore. 

May the winds their vigils keep 

On the ever restless, billowy sea, 
While my bonnie laddie is sailing o'er. 

And bring him back once more to me. 
To sail the stormy seas no more. 

REFRAIN. 

Then it's blow, ye gentle winds, o'er the ocean. 
Blow, ye gentle winds, o'er the dark blue sea, 

And bring my bonnie laddie safely o'er. 
Back again to his loving friends and me. 

And his dear old home once more. 



305 



POEMS AND SONGS BY LEWIS R WHITE. 



SUNNY ALABAMA. 



Oh, it is down in Alabama, 
Where the darkies dwell. 

Where they raise the watermelon, 
And the cantaloupe as well. 

CHORUS. 

Alabama, Alabama, 

My old home I love so well ; 
Sunny Alabama, 

Where the darkies dwell. 

Where we hoed the cotton, 

Working with the darkie belles ; 

Never to be forgotten, 
For thee my bosom swells. 

On the old plantation. 

Underneath a shady palm, 

With friends and relations, 

And a watermelon on my arm. 

Oh, those watermelons sweet. 
Fresh, right from the vines; 

Ripe and juicy, all complete, 
In mv old Southern clime. 



«~~2^i — » 



306 



A WAITING SWEETHEART. 



A WAITING SWEETHEART. 



One night when all was calm and still, 

And the moon shone bright and clear, 
I and Everett together rambled o'er the hill, 

And he whispered low, "I love you, little dear, 
And it may be years we will have to wait 

Before I take you home to be wed. 
And the old folks enter the church yard gate 

And are peacefully sleeping with the dead." 

CHORUS. 

Oh, how sad is my fate. 

That I so long have got to wait. 

How long! how long! have I got to wait? 

Oh, how sweet are the hours 

When we together stroll. 
Listening to brooklets running through shady 
bowers. 

Sparkling, clear and cool. 
Singing in the trees the sweet little birds 

Seem to warble to their mates 
Those solemn, sad, heart-aching words, 

"It is hard for you so long to wait." 

As we sat by the moon's radiant light, 

And the twinkling stars shone bright above. 
Planning out the distant future bright. 

And whispering consoling words of love. 
He asked me to be his sweetheart ever. 

And evermore together roam. 
That married we would be, I should not wait forever, 

And that he would take me home. 



307 



POEMS AND SONGS BY LEWIS R. WHITE. 

Oh, how sweet are the hours 

When I am with the one I love best, 
And his fond caresses come in showers 

As I lay my head upon his honest breast. 
They take away the aching- pain 

That is hidden in my heart, 
That seems to say when shall we meet again 

In the old homestead never more to part. 



SHINING MOON. 



The moon is brightly shining. 
While I with my love am reclining, 
Telling sweet tales of love 
While the stars glitter above. 

CHORUS. 

Shine on, shine on. 
Bright, shining moon. 
Shine on, shine on. 

The moon is brightly shining, 
While the future we are planning, 
And the nighthawk is singing above, 
The birds whisper words of love. 

The moon is brightly shining, 
While her little hand in mine is lying, 
And the dew-drops are falling 
On the flowers from above. 



aos 



SHINING MOON. 



The moon is brightly shining, 
As her hand on my shoulder was lying, 
Oh, will you be mine, little dove, 
Says she, I will, my love. 



I'LL GIVE IT ALL FOR YOU. 



A youth once left his native shore 
And his sweetheart that he adored, 

With downcast heart and an angry frown, 
Rejected because that he was poor, 

And by her parents cast down. 
This he said, "Sweetheart be true, 
I will a fortune gain and then return 
With plenty of money, money to burn, 
And I'll give it all for you." 

CHORUS. 

So until I return to you 
Sweetheart be true. 
And when I return, 
I'll have money to burn. 
And with a smile I'll 
Give it all for you. 

"Darling, sweetheart," he wrote with grace, 
"I long to see your sweet, smiling face. 

And hear your familiar voice again. 
Singing sweetly in the same old place ; 

That dear old familiar refrain, 
And by your side sing it with you. 
By and by we will happy be, when I return. 
For then I'll have money, money to burn. 
And I'll give it all for you. 



.309 



POEMS AND SONGS BY LEWIS R. WHITE. 

"I will build a cottage by the water, 

And we'll wedded be and live fair daughter, 

Have a naphtha launch made grand, 
And o'er the sparkling surface we'll wander 

Together, go sporting far from the land. 
So, sweetheart, unto me be ever true. 
Soon for your hand I'll return, 
For then I'll have money, money to burn, 
And I'll give it all for you." 



HURRAH FOR THE HEROES. 

Oh, the stars and stripes on a field of battle 
Where the eagle screeched and the cannon rattled. 
And brave men fought and bold heroes fell 
Amid cannon shot and screeching shell. 

CHORUS. 

Hurrah for the heroes who fought so well. 
Hurrah for the heroes who in battle fell. 
Hurrah for the heroes both great and small 
That gave their lives for us all. 

It was on the plain and on the hill. 
Liberty to gain, it was freedom's will 
That their lives and blood they shed. 
Whose works still live although they are dead. 

We will sing praises and shout their names 
Of those who have left behind such heroic fames, 
And the stars and stripes over them wave. 
In freedom's happy land, home of the brave. 



310 



THE HEROi:: 



For this priceless land, we will live and die 
And the star spangled banner ever wave on high, 
Freedom's emblem, the one we love so well, 
Who for it in cruel battle fought and fell. 



MY BONNIE SAILOR BOY. 
I dearly love my sailor boy, Walter, 
Who sails o'er the dark blue waters, 
When found out, my parents raved and tossed, 
That only made me love him the more, 
For every time that he sailed into port, 
I softly stole away, him to court. 

CHORUS. 

Steal away, steal away, steal away. 
To meet my bonnie sailor boy, Walter, 
For a stroll by the moonlit waters. 
To watch the seagulls in their flight. 
Or gather bright shells in a starry night, 
Where the dolphins like kittens play. 

For yonder gleams a beacon light. 
From the lighthouse on its craggy height, 
Together we will plan our wedding day 
Then in his gallant ship sail away, 
O'er the rolling, restless, breakish tide. 
Where dark waters golden treasures hide. 

And when our gallant ship comes back, 
With her load of treasures, we will not lack 
Returning to the dear old home once more, 
Then the o'd folks will meet us at the door, 
A joyous greeting to us freely impart, 
Receiving us both hack to their hearts. 



311 



POEMS AND SONGS BY LEWIS R. WHITE. 



WHEN THE HEART GROWS TENDER. 



It is when the heart grows tender, 

And the eyes shine with love light, 
To thee, oh, Cupid, I surrender, 

Sweet maid, my beauty bright. 

CHORUS. 

It is when the heart grows tender. 

Oh, lovely maid, it is of you. 
Whose eyes are like the stars of night 

That sparkle like the dew. 

It is when the heart grows tender, 

And tears down my cheeks flow. 
For one sweet caress soft and tender, 

To soothe this aching hurt that pains me so. 

It is when the heart grows tender. 

That I am sad and melancholy 
And long to embrace thy form so slender. 

And listen to thy voice so cheerful and jolly. 

It is when the heart grows tender, 

And life seems drear without thee, 
All my thoughts on thee seem to center, 

Darling to me thou art ever dear. 

It is when the heart grows tender, 

Earth seeming a paradise from Heaven above. 
All barriers to Cupid's arm surrenders, 

When two hearts melt together in love. 



312 



HAPPY DAYS OF THE PAST. 



HAPPY DAYS OF THE PAST. 



It was when the stars shone bright, 

And the Moonbeams' golden light 

Looked down on a woodvine cottage in the dale, 

Where the birds once sang love's sweet tale 

To a young couple in years of long ago. 
Where now an old man, aged and gray, 

Is thinking of the dear one he loves so. 

CHORUS. 

Happy days among the flowers, 
Happy days of well spent hours, 
Wandering among the brooks and rills, 
Through shady woodlands and sunny hills. 

Picking flowers and boxberry plums 
While the moonbeams shone on the waters. 

Or listening to the bees' soft hum. 

Thinking of the old church in the glen. 

When his blushing bride was with him then. 

And all the world looked so bright and fair 

As he looked into the eyes of blue and golden hair, 

And heard her whisper in a low, sweet voice. 
Through life we will walk hand in hand, 

For I loved you when I made you my choice. 

Now the Autumn leaves are falling, 
And the birds their mates are calling. 
For the summer of life has passed by. 
And he waits her coming from on high, 

Expecting to hear that same sweet voice, 
The outstretched hands and smile of welcome. 

As when he first made her his choice. 



.S13 



POEMS AND SONGS BY LEWIS R. WHITE. 



JUST ONE RAY OF SUNSHINE. 



Just one ray of sunshine I recall, 
Just one ray of bright sunshine 

On my pathway chanced to fall, 
Just one never forgotten sweet memory, 

Ever dear one that I love to recall. 

CHORUS. 

Just one bright ray of sunshine, 

Just one golden shaft of light. 

Just one pure, penetrating sunbeam. 

Like an arrow pierced the heart, that is all. 

Leaving it dark and desolate again. 
Though years like shadows o'er me pass, 

Often cheered by some sweet refrain, 
One of memory's jewels hid away 

In a secret cell of the heart to remain. 

Oh ! how sweet the memory of years, 
Without regret, remorse or shame, 

Like a sunbeam shining through tears 
Of dew or gentle showers of rain. 

One sweet ray of sunshine, that is all. 



OH, MUST WE PART. 



Her children stood beside her dying bed, 
She held them to her breaking heart ; 

As on her breast they pillowed their heads, 
Whispered, must we, Oh, must we part. 



S14 



OH, MUST WE PART. 



CHORUS. 



When sweetheart, father and son goes off to war 
again. 
He knows not that he will ever return again, 
Home again, home again his dear ones to see, 

No more to see, no more to see, never to return 
again. 

When the sweetheart lays her aching head 
For the last time on his manly heart, 

And in bitter anguish hot tears shed 
Whispers, must we, Oh, must we part. 

When father and son march away to die. 
Shoulder to shoulder and heart to heart, 

On a bloody battlefield there to lie. 
Whisper, must we, Oh, must we part. 

When the battlefield is calm and still. 

And some return wounded and sick at heart, 

But to find their dear ones cold and ill, 
Whisper, must we. Oh, must we part. 



IN THE LAND OF THE U. S. A. 



I am going far away, little darling, 
Far away across the deep blue sea. 

In America, happy land, there to stay, 
Where I will send for you to come to me, 

In the land of the good old U. S. A. 



315 



POEMS AND SONGS BY LEWIS R. WHITE. 
CHORUS. 

It is there forever happy we will be, 
You and me, away across the sea, 
Where there are homes and money, they say, 
In the land of the good old U. S. A. 

I will bid you good-bye, little darling. 

Though it is breaking my heart to say so ; 

The dreary time will soon pass away. 

Then our hearts will shine with a brighter glow. 

In the land of the good old U. S. A. 

Weep not, for, sweet little darling, 

When across the sea I am far from you. 

For e'er long we will meet across the way. 

Evermore to dwell under the red, white and blue. 

In the land of the good old U. S. A. 



THE TITANIC. 



I will sing you a song of the steamship Titanic, 
•That was built with much pride, ending in panic. 
With her colors flying, from Liverpool she sailed 
away. 
Bound for New York, down the coast of New- 
foundland, 
With twenty-three thousand forty souls all happy 
and gay. 
Leaving amid loud cheers and the playing of 
the band. 



316 



THE TITANIC. 



CHORUS. 



Did that beautiful palace ever make port? 

No, no, she never made port. 

For she struck an iceburg- where fifteen hundred 

ninety-five went down 
To the lowlands low, ofif the coast of Newfoundland, 
Where she and all her treasures never can be found, 
Deep, down deep on the bottom of the sea. 

So with regret we will say farewell to the Titanic 

forever, 
And the loved ones that went down on her tog'ether, 
That never can return to those left broken-hearted, 

Who so joyously sailed away on the ocean wave. 
Where the Titanic and all on board parted 

From their native shore to an ocean grave. 

So we will say good-bye with regret and remorse. 

So be God's will, for man has no choice, 

And if we watch for her we will watch in vain. 

For that beautiful steamship called the Titanic, 
Sailing away in splendor, never to leave port again, 

So shortly ending in misery, disaster and panic. 



SONG OF THE ANVIL. 



A blacksmith at his trade, when young, 
Stood by his forge, and the hammer swung, 
And each day while the moments were fleeting. 
There sounded forth a constant beating. 
Until the sundown's final close 
Did that muscular arm seek rest and repose. 



317 



POEMS AND SONGS BY LEWIS R. WHITE, 
CHORUS. 

Cling, cling, cling, clang, clang, clang, 
Cling, clang, cling, clang, cling, clang, 
Clink, clink, clink, the rattle of tong. 
Time keeping to the same old song, 
A steady stroke, a constant beating, 
Out the moments swiftly fleeting. 

Thus days, months and years rolled away, 
The same refrain repeating each day, 
While the sparks from the iron upward fly, 
'Til gray was the hair and dim was the eye 
Of the youth once athletic and strong. 
Slowly but surely beating out life's song. 

At last when the setting of the sun. 
The finishing touch his day's work was done, 
And the rattle of tongs and hammer was still, 
He with feeble steps to his home on the hill, 
Never more returned to the shop again. 
For he had finished the anvil refrain. 



SONG OF THE OLD WINDMILL. 



Yonder stands the old windmill 

That once ground out the golden grain, 

For years her shaft has long been still, 
And her windfanes blown in twain. 

Youth and maiden that once entered her door 

Have long ceased to enter it more. 



31S 



SONG OF THE OLD WINDMILL. 
CHORUS. 

Yet like a sentinel stands the old windmill. 
Kissed by the sunshine and the rain, 

While the rusty, squeaking vane, never still, 
That seems to sing the same sad refrain, 

Forget me not, forget me not with a yawl. 

My work is done, my song I sing, that is all. 

On her cankered walls woodbine and moss grow, 

Her path, once by footsteps trod. 
Now is covered o'er with thistle, thorn and rose. 

Only by gentle winds disturbed, bend and nod, 
Seem listening to the windmill's squeaking vane. 
For generations sung in the same sad strain. 

Now a landmark or memorial of the past, 
Where once many hungry mouths were fed, 

Grinding golden grain in every windy blast, 
Now standing erect, silent and dead. 

Its own record ever seems keeping, 

By the rustic windvane's squeaking. 



WHEN THE FLOWERS BLOOM AGAIN. 



I'll be with you when the flowers bloom again, 
When the summer sun casts shadows in the lane, 
When the crickets are chirping their evening song, 

When the birds and bees are at rest. 
Wait for me, dear, for it will not be long 

Before I shall be with you, my darling Bess. 



319 



POEMS AND SONGS BY LEWIS R. WHITE, 
CHORUS. 

When the whip-poor-will sings his evening song, 
Whip-poor-will, whip-poor-will, all night long, 
And the moon looks down from the clouds above, 

And brightly the stars shine o'er fields of grain, 
Then I will whisper sweet words to you, my love, 

When the flowers bloom again. 

I will sail across the deep blue sea, 
With golden treasure for you and me ; 
Then you shall wear rings on your fingers. 

So patiently wait and watch, for the close 
Of a few short months will bring us 

Where the dew-drops fall on the rose. 

In the garden, that sweet, shady bower 
Where the bees gather honey from the flower. 
Where the sunset's flaming rays enfold 

The earth, in shadow cast 
Their reflections of purple, red and gold. 

Then we will make up the loss of the past. 



SWEET CONEALIUS, ANGONEALIUS, JEN- 
EAVIOUS JENNIE. 



Sweet idle maiden, it is of thee 

That in my dreams you I see 

Ever smiling down on me; 

While my pining heart is throbbing, 

Night and day my rest robbing. 

Sweet Conealius, Angonealius, Jeneavious Jennie. 



320 



SWEET CONEALIUS, ANGONEALIUS, JENEAVIOUS JENNIE. 
CHORUS. 

With your starlight, squinting, cross eyes. 

And hair like the red sunset skies, 

That down your swanny neck flies. 

Say that you love me, now, do not deceive us. 

Sweet Conealius, Angonealius, Jeneavious Jennie. 

Your voice my heart ever thrilling. 

On you I will spend my last shilling, 

My true devotion ever distilling. 

When to see thee is but sweet relief, 

Where parting is but bitter grief. 

Sweet Conealius, Angonealius, Jeneavious Jennie. 

For with joy I can almost fly, 

When I catch the wink of your eye. 

And I will love you 'til I die. 

For half my love can never be told. 

Which to you I would unfold, 

Sweet Conealius, Angonealius, Jeneavious Jennie. 

Oh, how my heart beats with joy 

When I meet you, my darling decoy, 

And hear you say, "Kiss me, darling boy," 

Will-o-the-wisp all the while. 

In your slim and slender style. 

Sweet Conealius, Angonealius, Jeneavious Jennie. 



QUEEN OF THE MOHAWK VALE. 



Young torrent in his canoe took a sail 

To court an Indian maiden in Mohawk vale. 

He brought her robes made of the very best of skins, 

Fine and warm and soft and thin. 

He told her of his wondrous love and heroic tales, 

Miss Doveye, Queen of the Mohawk vale. 



321 



POEMS AND SONGS BY LEWIS R. WHITE. 
CHORUS. 

Me much lovey, she much dovey, 

Me much lookey, she much cookey, 

In the tepee there where she be, 

The squirrel, deer, partridge and quail, 

For there is none there that can compare 

With Doveye, Queen of the Mohawk vale. 

It was one night early in Fall 

That he packed his robes, hatchet and all. 

For the place on which he many moons espied, 

Where he had won and wedded his bride, 

And in his canoe gladly set sail 

To see Mrs. Doveye, Queen of the Mohawk vale. 



KNEE WARN KNEE SONG. 



Once there lived an Indian maiden 

Who roamed the forest, young and free. 
Among the flowers with dew-drops laden. 

Listening to the birds singing in the trees. 
And thus one day she met her brave lover. 

Who declared his love, and the white man slew, 
Died broken-hearted, cared for no other. 

But ever proved steadfast and true. 

CHORUS. 

Now, as the winds are softly sighing. 

And the night hawk and whip-poor-will sing o'er 
the lea. 
Form a chorus in one voice, seem crying 

The name of Knee Warn Knee, Knee Warn Knee. 



322 



KNEE WARN KNEE SONG. 

Now, as on yonder hillside she lies sleeping, 
Where the flowers ever bloom and no tears fall, 

Remembered only by the winds, their vigil keeping, 
And the night hawk and whip-poor-will, that is all. 

Her name has long been forgotten, 

There is none left to tell the tale 
Of long marches from hill to prairie bottom. 

Suffering, starvation and thirst upon the trail. 
Nor the scorn they brought the white man. 

And messages through forest wild. 
Her tortured spirit, her broken plan, 

The aching heart nor the dying smile. 



THE SAILOR'S COURTSHIP. 



Says she, "Now, Jack, do not go to sea. 
Make fast the ship and settle down with me, 
And I will give you silver from the mines. 

And gold from over the sea. 
And in wedlock we will be entwined, 

Oh, how happy we will be." 

CHORUS. 

"I do not want your silver from the mine, 

Nor your gold from over the sea ; 
All I want is my good old ship 

On the wave, the good old ship for me." 

"Jack, now, listen to what I have to say, 

Do not roam o'er the sea and throw your life away, 

And I will give you horses and lands 

And houses in yonder city over there. 
And servants all at your command. 

If you will settle down and be fair." 

323 



POEMS AND SONGS DY LEWIS R. WHITE. 
CHORUS. 

"I do not want your horses and lands, 

Nor your houses and servants over there, 

For on my ship I love to glide far from shore, 

O'er the foaming tide where the tempests roar." 

"Now, since you will not stay at home. 
And are ever in your ship bound to roam, 
And on shore will not contented be, 

I will with you share your cradle boat, 
And, like two sea gulls, you and me. 

Ever o'er the ocean we will float." 

CHORUS. 

So it's all together, hoist away, heave away, 

Blow, ye gentle winds, and blow, ye winds, heigho, 

Bows square away the main yards. 
And blow, blow, blow, blow. 



LOVE AMONG THE FLOWERS. 



It was when the dew was softly falling, 
And the nightingale was sweetly calling, 

And the birds and bees were at rest, 
When I took my first moonlight ramble 
O'er the hill, through bush and bramble, 

With sweet, golden-haired, blue-eyed Bess. 



'^'fS\'^^^&ye>:> 



324 



LOVE AMONG THE FLOWERS. 
CHORUS. 

Days of bliss among the flowers, 
In fields of clover or shady bowers, 

Gathering the lily where the waters flow, 
Two birds into one nest had flown, 
Two hearts into one have grown. 

To part, no, never, that is so. 

I hear but one sweet voice calling me, 
A loving smile and one sweet face I see; 

Through locks of gold the gray is shone. 
The flowers may fade, the birds fly away. 
For the first love of youth, day by day. 

Grows stronger for my darling, my own. 

Then, while we live, we will love, she and I, 
Where the flowers bloom and the bee passes by, 

And the birds sing in their same sweet tone, 
Though time has made us grow wrinkled and gray, 
Love shall lead us by the hand all the way, 

To me, yet fair, has never older grown. 



WHIP-POOR-WILL. 



When the evening shades appear, calm and still. 
And the sun has sunk away o'er the lea. 
Sweet music I hear from the old elm tree, 

Where sounds the shrill notes of the whip-poor-will. 

CHORUS. 

The whip-poor-will sings his shrill little song, 
Whip-poor-will, whip-poor-will, all the night long, 
Joyously singing whip-poor-will's loud call, 
Singing, singing the night away, that is all. 



325 



POEMS AND SONGS BY LEWIS R. WHITE. 

When daylight appears, he soars o'er the hill, 

In the woodland's shady bower to sleep and to 

rest. 
Soaring back when the sun sinks in the West, 

From the elm comes the sound of the whip-poor-will. 

Every summer evening, in the elm, singing loud and 
shrill, 
Echoes that song to me so sweet and dear, 
Up high in the tree-top of the old elm tree 

Is heard the sound of the whip-poor-will. 



QUEEN OF MY HEART. 



Since I saw my queen at a fairy ball, 

She has been the inspiration of my themes; 

In my heart a sweet melody remains unsung 
Of the priceless pearl of my dreams. 

Her voice I hear above the rest, 
So sweet and clear, I love the best 
Of all shining evening stars. 

But, ah, how slow the time wears on. 
That the fullness of love I might know, 

Which quenches the flames of a longing heart 
Filled with devotions warm and true. 

To live for her alone, never more to part, 
T-o reign o'er my throne. Queen of my heart, 
To thrill with love's enchanting song. 

That now she is mine, together we sing. 
The enchantments of Cupid's dart. 

For she is my queen, I am her king, 
Lip to lip and heart to heart. 



32S 



QUEEN OF MY HEART. 

Upon life's way, as the days go by. 
We enjoy each day, my wife and I, 
And in perfect bliss our hearts repose. 

How sweet is life, when all is well, 
Two hearts as one together brought, 

Where no shadows are cast to mar the spell, 
Wherein the past is all forgot. 

We strive and love, my queen and I, 
Just like two doves, as time goes by. 
And we march on and on forevermore. 



GERALDINE. 



I am dreaming of you, darling mine. 
My darling, sweet, sweet, lost Geraldine, 
And the wild roses in the valley grow, 
Where we ofttimes wandered to and fro. 

CHORUS. 

For she is sleeping beneath the chestnut tree, 
Where the whip-poor-will loudly sings to me. 
Singing, sweetly singing, all night long, 
Geraldine, I love you still, I love you strong. 

No other face so sweet I will ever find, 
Like my darling, darling Geraldine ; 
No more we will wander by the seashore. 
Where ships like sea gulls cross it o'er. 

There was no other heart so pure and kind, 
To be compared with my dear Geraldine ; 
No more together by the brooks wander, 
And amid love's dreams stop and ponder. 



Msn 



POEMS AND SONGS BY LEWIS R. WHITE. 

My heart for the one beneath the chestnut pines, 
A marble marks the spot of my Geraldine, 
And as I kneel beside that marble token, 
I weep good-bye from a heart that is broken. 



FOLDIER, PEACEFULLY SLEEP. 



The soldier sleeps, peacefully sleeps 
Where there is no ball or screeching shell ; 
Who feared not, but in contact bravely fell. 
That others by his death might a harvest reap, 
And leave behind on the pages of fame 
The victories won and a heroic name. 

CHORUS. 

The soldier sleeps, peacefully sleeps 
Where all is well, in his low green tent; 

The soldier sleeps, peacefully sleeps 

Beneath his blanket of green in content. 

The soldier sleeps, peacefully sleeps, 
Who heeded not the last when his vessel reeled. 
Through the cannon's blast and piercing shell, 
And at his post went to the bottom of the deep, 
Where no flowers grow or teardrops fall, 
Whose briny tides o'erflow, covering all. 

The soldier sleeps, peacefully sleeps 

On land or sea where'er he fought, 

For his records are kept, they're not forgot, 

For the good harvester will gather in his wheat 

From near or far, where'er it fell. 

There will be none lost, and all is well. 



328 



SOLDIER, PEACEFULLY SLEEP. 

THE WANDERERS. 



Never turn away a wanderer into the cold, 

When tired and hungry he comes to your door; 

But listen to the story that he has told, 

'Til replenished and started rejoicing once more. 

CHORUS. 

Be kind to a homeless, weary wanderer, 
For he was once a mother's pride and joy. 

And perhaps on some unseen mission yonder 
God has sent this once handsome boy. 

For perhaps the journey has been long, 

And the way rough and steep. 
His garments torn by thistle and thorn. 

As he journeys on his mission to complete. 

Years of travel have told the tale 

Of vigorous youth turned into the old; 

Of sorrow, hardships and bitter pain. 
Of burning heat, or winter's bitter cold. 

If with bent form he extends an empty hand, 
Give him not the bread of stone, crying, depart, 

For did not Christ once walk alone. 
Footsore, and lonely of heart? 

SWEET CHARLOTTIE. 



It was in a woodvine cottage, 

Down by a rippling stream. 
That I first met sweet Charlottie, 

Beneath the moon's gentle beams, 
Where the whip-poor-will was singing. 

And the lark was soaring high. 
Arm in arm fondly clinging, 

She with the love-light in her eye. 



S2» 



POEMS AND SONGS BY LEWIS R. WHITE. 
CHORUS. 

Now, she is sleeping, peacefully sleeping 

Where the moss rose is gently creeping, 

That I placed there long ago, with dew-drops laden, 

Sleeps sweet Charlottie, the little maiden. 

Though a blight, I lingering stay, 

A subject of dark visions cast, 
Yet life is nourished by one bright ray 

Sent from sweet memories of the past 
To refresh and lengthen blighted years. 

Like an old harp whose shivered strings 
Are but tokens of love and tears, 

But like a phantom fondly clings. 

But, ah, how sweet it is to know 

That life in all its desert years 
Can reach us with no heavier blow, 

Then heavenward guide us through tears, 
Where congenial hearts together entwine 

Amid fairy realms of fairy bliss ; 
There again sweet Charlottie will be mine, 

Far, far beyond a world like this. 



LOVE'S SWEET SONG. 



Sing to me once more that old sweet refrain. 
Sing it as you used to sing it many years ago 
In the cottage by the mill, where the crystal 
waters flow ; 
Let me hear you sing it o'er again. 
As in youthful days of yore, when the moon above. 
And stars looked down upon earth's 'retiring 
throng. 
When by the cottage door we enchanted words of 
love. 
And together sang love's sweet song. 



aao 



LOVES SWEET SONG. 
CHORUS. 

Let me hear you sing with the same clear ring 
The words to me impart, sung from the heart, 
To lighten life's pathway as we journey on, 
Where the flowers bloomed in the month of June, 
Where we used to spoon, by the light of the moon, 
And together sang love's sweet song. 

Although your locks of gold have turned to gray. 

And faded are your cheeks, your eyes no longer 
bright, 

I love you just the same as I did upon the night 
When together we whiled the hours away, 
Listening to the night hawk and whip-poor-will. 

Whose shrill notes in harmony following along. 
Seem to accord with the rippling waters' flow by the 
mill, 

When together we sang love's sweet song. 



THE SEA GULL. 



The sea gull soars o'er the ocean foam. 

Far o'er the storm tossed, heaving sea, 
And on her billowy crest makes his home, 

Among the green robed virgils of the free. 
Singing high or low in his rise or fall, 

He keeps in tune with the ocean swell; 
In bugle-like notes he loudly calls. 

Accords with the roar, breaking calm's sweet 
spell. 

CHORUS. 

He exclaims, the sea's my home, I love her halls, 
I love her stormy, flute-like bugle calls. 
O'er green-robed tides where mariners glide, 
The sea gull sings, the sea's my home. 



331 



POEMS AND SONGS BY LEWIS R. WHITE, 

As o'er the windhills he is borne in zephyr cars, 

Glides swiftly on through mystic clouds 
In azure streets where blossom the stars, 

Under whose blue tent his home o'ershrouds, 
Rises far above them, far below, 

Where the wind's soft tune with the seamew 
swells. 
Bathes in the surf his feathery coat of snow, 

In tuneful notes his story tells. 

Although her music sinks and swells, 

And leave nameless joys far, far behind, 
Her long played anthems only tell 

The endless tales of thee and thine, 
While the sea gull sings his fancied song. 

For hope or joy or love sublime. 
To the fathomless deep his spirit clings, 

Enchants his song o'er the rolling brine. 

SWINGING SUSAN JANE. 



It was on a farm in the state of Maine 

Where I went a-courting my darling Susan Jane ; 

In a lane she was swinging to and fro. 

In the orchard where the summer sweetings grow. 

CHORUS, 

Swinging in the lane, my darling Susan Jane, 
Like a bird she was singing, while she was swinging 
In the evening's purple glow, swing to and fro, 
In the orchard where the summer sweetings grow. 

It was there I threw at her one of Cupid's darts. 
Declaring that from her I would never part. 
Because I loved her so well, you know, 
In the orchard where the summer sweetings grow. 

At last speaking sharp, to see if I was winning, 
She only laughed and kept right on swinging, 
And singing like a lark flying high and low. 
In the orchard where the summer sweetings grow, 

332 



LIBRARY OF CONGRESS 



018 477 473 2 



!" 41 






r-'l^' i:i 



1:1; if 

''.•: Ill'- :^ll13, 1 'ft 






Qi I ii 

"?;i ililijp 



Si 



m 



■^^11 if 

■:tiH'M!!|il|i 

!''i'i;!l^;'Pn|iii|;!;!' 






' ■■■' ' ' I iii.'i^''tj >'s^ 

,;!'!!!lhi'i>i?'tf'iitl!bii 



lirtiH: 



' ■ ' ' *'' '"fM''iii'')iPfi 

•i''i1!ii'''i|T'il,ii!l':'l']|%wiH'S 






.'■.•.[iliiillJMi.iMs: 

is ill I 



:t'i 'iij'ir.i^i.l'' 



'■;;''lii!i'#i 



lit 



